


The Handler

by scribbledstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Agent!Harry, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, BAMF!Harry, F/M, Genius!Draco, Hacker!Draco, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribbledstars/pseuds/scribbledstars
Summary: Accidental CIA hacker Draco Malfoy is unceremoniously bullied into becoming the handler for Agent Harry Potter, Codename: Black. Who, coincidently enough, broke his arm back in high school after he allegedly set off a chemical bomb in Potter's face. In retrospect, how was he supposed to know Potter would grow up to be the deadliest man on the planet?Also, Draco’s complete lack of self-control has led him to alternate between deliberating injuring the man on missions during the day, and sleeping with him at night. It’s pretty much a complete recipe for disaster.





	1. Part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Covert Affairs, ALIAS, Nikita and Bond all mixed together. I think I’ve fantasized bits of this story through the years and finally just decided to throw it together and actually write it. FYI: Draco is a drama queen, and also a bit dark, but in an endearing way, hopefully.

** Mission 1. **

This morning Draco had no idea he was going to end up in an office swivel chair in a dimly lit super-secret underground floor of the CIA, researching – well hacking really – anything this widely talented agent might need while conducting his mission. He’s already pulled up some background information on the target including current bank accounts, credit history, real estate holdings, analyzed the building blueprints, accessed the security systems, and planned three escape routes for him.

He’s doing this all in front of a large, state-of-the-art 3x3 set up of sleek touch screens all to monitor said agent’s point-of-view, aerial-view, immediate-surrounding-view, and further north-east-south-west-views, you know, depending on which direction the agent might turn. It really is a nice set up, much better than the single monitor he has, what, 6 floors up?

Draco looks up dubiously and realizes he probably should have paid more attention on where he was going when a scary armed man in all black and dark sunglasses plucked him out of his office and told him he was required “below.”

Oh, and there was an extra screen left over that he had decided to pull Grey’s Anatomy up on because McSteamy is appropriately named and he thought the agent was going to be doing boring things and America has such _great_ scandalous shows.

Except the agent isn’t doing boring things at all.

Draco tries not to be impressed as the agent disarms three security guards with his bare hands all the while disassembling the guns he snatched from them in seconds, bullet cartridges clinking quietly on the tile floor as they’re emptied. This agent probably doesn’t need three escape routes. He’s following Draco’s directions to the T.

“Turn right, go down a long hallway, turn left, and the first door is a secret elevator that opens with code 80085, it’ll take you to the top floor where the target is.”

“80085?” the agent asks with a laugh, “you serious?”

“Yes, like BOOBS, don’t be so immature about it,” Draco responds snidely, ignoring the fact that he himself had snorted when he first deciphered it.

“Think the next code I run into will be 69?”

Draco checks, and dammit. It actually is.

“Why don’t you try it and see if it blows up on you?” suggests Draco.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to let me do that,” the agent says dubiously, casually using a silencer as quickly and efficiently as if it was a machine gun on six unsuspecting guards.

“Well, I’m not actually a handler so I wouldn’t know the rules,” Draco replies briskly, “and duck into this doorway right ahead. A patrol is passing through and they won’t be able to see you from their angle.”

The agent ducks into the doorway as instructed, and when the patrol passes by with a quick glance, seeing nothing, the agent murmurs “how the hell did you know that?”

“I coded your measurements into surveillance and overlaid it with all the eye-lines of the guards, and then mapped out all the different routes to your target to see which was fastest and which was safest and included the timing of the patrols,” answers Draco.

The agent whistles, “Where have they been keeping you?”

“I’m just a grunt hacker a couple floors up, all financials,” answers Draco, eyeing the north-view screen, where this agent was going to be in – he estimates how fast the agent is moving through the halls and checks the distance – 23 seconds.

“In 23 seconds you’re going to run into this big guy with knives he’s spinning around like batons, you want to detour or take him?” asks Draco.

“Which route did you pick?” asks the agent.

“What?” asks Draco, still eyeing the guy with knives, “20 seconds.”

“You said you mapped out my route, fastest and safest,” answers the agent, seemingly unconcerned that Draco was counting down to a potentially lethal situation, “which one did you pick?

“The fastest obviously, you don’t seem the type to need to safest,” answers Draco, realizing he’s answered the question himself.

15 seconds later the agent has made quick work the knife guy, and even slips two of the glinting blades into the cuffs of his impeccably tailored suit. The agent is wearing a dark cap, so Draco can’t make out the top part of his face, but can still see the glint of a cheeky smile when the agent raises his head and gives a security camera in the back corner of the hallway a little wave.

Draco imagines that when the building reviews the security footage (because unfortunately the system has been wired to be un-wipeable and the most Draco can do right now is just lock everyone out while he’s on it) after this fiasco it’ll seem like a taunt. Or an insane murderer saying I’m coming for you to haunt your nightmares.

“So what kind of time am I going for?” asks the agent, reaching the room with the elevator.

“It was 8 minutes, including 2-and-half-minutes of elevator time, but after you stopped to pick up souvenirs and wave at me so it’s now up to 10 minutes,” responds Draco, wondering if the agent was actually going to try 69 on the code inside the elevator. One code to open the elevator, one code to get it to the top floor.

Draco zooms in on the keypad with the camera in the elevator. Confident bastard doesn’t even hesitate and punches in 69. Doesn’t even flinch when it flashes a dangerous red and Draco briefly wonders if he’d seen it wrong and he’s killed this spectacular agent, before the elevator obediently starts climbing upwards.

“You know that was rigged to explode,” says Draco dryly, but thinking _this is fucking exciting_.

“Well, I didn’t think you were going to let me die,” the agent peers at the watch on his wrist, “after 6 whole minutes of hard work trying to keep me alive.”

Draco glances at the timer at the top of his screen.

It has been 6 minutes.

“Especially since you called my handler a complete imbecile and implied he was leading me into a death trap,” says the agent pleasantly, “If you’re just a grunt hacker how’d you end up on floor B12 anyways?”

Ah, B12. So Draco wasn’t 6 floors down. He was 12 floors down. The elevator probably moved twice as fast and he had miscalculated the trajectory.

How _did_ Draco end up on floor B12?

Through a series of unfortunate, or fortunate events, depending on how you looked at it.

A couple years ago he’d been a bored aristocrat-in-training drinking $100 glasses of champagne from $1,000 crystal glasses in $10,000 suits attempting to avoid small talk with heiresses with $1,000,000 trust funds. He’d graduated from Harvard with a major in business and a minor in computer science. Business was dreadfully boring, but his father had insisted it was the only respectable degree for British nobility. His mother, bless her soul, had told him to study something he wanted to.

So Draco learned he liked computers and hacking. Especially when he realized he could skip all of his snooze-fest business classes by getting the exam questions off his professor’s desktops and just show up to ace finals to pass. After graduation he hadn’t thought to use his less-than-legal skills on anything else, until one of his father’s business partners got too drunk at one of the aforementioned dinner parties and tried to fondle him under the table. That had lost Sir Dolohov $5,000,000 from his account in the Cayman Islands, $1,000,000 for each of the fingers he had dared put on Draco’s leg.

In retrospect, Draco probably shouldn’t have donated it all to the CIA. He’d been a little drunk when he took the funds after tinkering with his iPhone, and had been alerted to a CNN article that said the CIA budget was being slashed due to transparency concerns. He had liked the time he spent in America, at Harvard. So much more than England and its stupid rules and responsibilities that came with being a Malfoy. So on a whim, he found some hidden accounts that had CIA written all over it and had dumped the money in under the transaction title “Thanks for the good memories, Amerrrrica” (give or take a few r's).

In retrospect, Draco had probably been completely wasted because he hadn’t even bothered to dispose of the iPhone after doing this, or cover any of his tracts. He’d just thought “let’s get in” forgetting about “without getting caught.” In fact, he’d woken up the next day remembering he had taken the money and had promptly forgotten where he had placed it – at least until 3 hours later when he was grabbed by 4 suited men and stuffed into a nondescript white van at the corner of his favorite coffee shop.

He’d then been taken on 8-hour plane ride before being led into an interrogation cell. He had first tried to explained what had happened, but then settled on just showing them how he had done it. After 3 psychiatrists came in and determined that Draco was not actually criminally insane, just lacking in self-control due to an overly pampered childhood, Draco was offered a job in their international financial crimes division.

“I don’t think my parents would approve of me working for the CIA,” Draco had said, secretly thinking that the job sounded interesting, realizing it would get him away from the tedium of dinner parties.

“Still doing everything mommy and daddy says,” one of the interrogators had sneered at him.

Draco blinked innocently at the idiot, “Considering I’m poised to inherit about oh, 50 million dollars, yes I generally try to keep up appearances.”

The woman who had offered him the job had promptly slapped that interrogator in the back of the head. Draco liked her immediately.

“We can get you in with a cover as an ambassador and base you in DC, especially because of your background.”

**Awesome.**

Draco’s father would definitely approve. He’d accepted on the spot.

The job at the international financial crimes division wasn’t that challenging, so Draco spent most of his free time after finishing up his assignments just poking around everything he had the clearance to get into. Unofficially, he also poked into things he didn’t have the clearance to get into also, but nobody had to know that. Draco wasn’t going to forget “without getting caught,” at least when he was sober anyways.

Today he’d had one assignment, with a “Top Priority” stamp on it – indicating that he needed to get some financials on some shady conglomerate in Spain. It took him an extra couple minutes to get in and pull those but had sent it off without a second thought.

A couple hours later, the scary armed man in all black and dark sunglasses had entered their floor, held up the file, and commanded the “grunt who did this” to follow him. Draco had tried to duck behind the water cooler, knowing this couldn’t be anything good, but his traitor office mate had eagerly pointed him out. So he’d been unceremoniously hauled down to this floor, B12, and told to sit next to a tall thin man that honestly resembled an old twig and probably didn’t consume anything besides the hordes of energy drinks piled under and around his desk.

Draco did notice the man had a pretty sweet setup. Turns out, the man needed help getting into the conglomerate’s system and noticed Draco had gotten the financials pretty easily. Their security had been sent to locate him. The man was a handler for a real life CIA agent, directing said agent on what was rapidly unfolding into what had to be an assassination mission.

Draco was 100% sure he was not authorized to be anywhere near this but wisely kept his mouth shut until he realized this man was a complete imbecile and doing absolutely nothing efficient. The agent, bless his soul, didn’t seem to care and was willy nilly barreling through the building with no trouble at all – but still, the complete inelegance of the operation was causing Draco heart palpations until he couldn’t handle it and started barraging a ton of criticisms.

After Draco started shrieking “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TELL HIM TO TURN RIGHT, LEFT, LEFT, **LEFT IS CLEARLY THE BETTER OPTION** HOW ARE YOU EVEN QUALIFIED TO DO THIS” right into the handler’s ear, the handler had thrown his headset at Draco and said “YOU DO IT THEN, I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS WHEN GRANGER ASKED ME TO DO THIS ONE MISSION.”

Draco had promptly plopped on the headset, told the agent he needed a minute to reconfigure everything, and then began re-directing the agent in a majorly superior way.

Over the course of 6 minutes, a couple people on B12 had gathered behind him and from the corner of his eye, he saw the glass doors of the overseeing office open, followed by sharp clacks of stilettos that promptly disbursed the crowd. Draco heard the shoes stop behind him and when his fingers stilled momentarily, was told “don’t stop on my account.”

Which brought him to this point, watching a lethal agent, Codename: Black, if the murmurs around him were anything to go by, relax in a 2-and-a-half-minute elevator ride before he’d have to avoid a barrage of actual machine guns poised on the elevator doors to get to the target, a man cowering behind what Draco recognized as a $50,000 gold-gilded armchair.

Draco thought he should probably say something.

About the chair that is.

“Your target’s hiding behind a $50,000 chair, any chance you can avoid riddling it with holes?”

Draco thought he heard the stilettoed woman behind him snort.

“No promises,” the agent responds. And just because of that, Draco doesn’t tell him about the machine guns until just as the elevator dings its arrival.

“Also you might want to duck.”

“FUCK!” blares through the headset and Draco winces. But, like he’d assumed but wasn’t actually _sure_ would happen, the agent ducks to the side and completely avoids all the gunfire. Is it bad that Draco secretly wondered how the agent would handle a gunshot wound?

The agent tosses a flash grenade and then, almost as if to spite Draco, aims the gun right at the center of the beautiful armchair, shoots, leaps over the armchair, shots at the target again, and then, without missing a beat and before Draco can even tell him the best escape route, jumps through the glass windows.

Draco notices he jumped through the west-side windows, and feels the need to point out the south-west windows were the better option, closer to better landing ground.

“You didn’t think to tell me that earlier?” the agent asks darkly, twisting his body to avoid some gunfire trailing behind him.

“Sorry, not trained as a handler,” answers Draco, completely unapologetically.

“Who **are** you?” the agent asks, voice laced with admiration, interest, and humor again. The agent also finally peels off his cap so Draco can see his entire face from the drone camera flying dutifully besides him.

Draco freezes.

**HOLY SHIT.**

Agent Black is **Harry FUCKING Potter.**

Golden Boy extreme from boarding school. They’d gone to high school together. The guy had FUCKING BROKEN DRACO'S ARM and Draco had just helped him assassinate someone.

**THIS WAS NOT HAPPENING.**

Draco tears off his headset and scrambles off the swivel chair. He barely notices the smile on the lips of a very stern and intimidating looking woman that has her grey hair pulled up into a severely tight bun in his haste to get off floor B12. At least someone was happy about what had just transpired because he was seething.

 **Harry FUCKING Potter**.

“Bye guys, let’s not _ever_ do this _ever_ again,” Draco announces, heading to the elevator only to be met with an unresponsive up button. He sees a panel to the side, flashing, taunting him with the swipe access he knows he doesn’t have.

He pulls out his keys and flips open the attached pocketknife. He makes quick work of the hidden screws on the sides and pulls off the metal overlay and is greeted with a mess of circuit boards. He considers whether he wants to do this elegantly, glances up and sees a room of serious looking people watching him, decides against elegant and just stabs the main circuit board until it sputters, sparks, and dies and cuts through some striped wires he guesses are the correct ones. Lucky the door slides open. Draco thanks the gods that are watching over him, straightens his back, walks in and heart pounding – punches the door close button furiously, even though he knows they don’t actually do anything.

Just before the doors close, he calls out –

**“If anyone tells Black who I am I will destroy your credit don’t think I won’t!”**

No one follows him, _thank god_. 

When the elevator reaches the floor for the international financial crimes division, Draco realizes he just threatened an entire floor of handlers for _CIA assassins_ with credit scores and begins to wonder if the psychiatrists were wrong, and he was actually, criminally insane.

Nothing happens the rest of the day.

His traitor office mate nervously asks what happened and Draco replies nothing. No one from floor B12 comes up to his office. He dares to hope the nightmare is over.

If he doesn’t have to see **Harry FUCKING Potter** ever again Draco could die happy. 

** Mission 1 + 1 Day. **

Draco isn’t stopped when he flashes his badge the next morning. He isn’t pulled into any dark corners and murdered because he threatened floor B12. His computer boots up normally. He pulls out his phone and scans the room. His office space isn’t bugged. Well, it isn’t bugged any more than usual. There’s still a camera in the corner that doesn’t record sound. He has his usual stack of assignments delivered to his desk 10 minutes after he settles down. It’s turning out to be a completely regular normal day, and he has just finished his sigh of relief with it all gets shot to hell.

“Hey, who was on the line with me yesterday?” an unwelcome but yet now-unfortunately-familiar voice calls out through the room.

 **FUCKING HELL**.

“This place has grunt hackers that do financials right?” that same voice calls out again. “I didn’t get your name yesterday and Hermione says it’s confidential so I snuck up here to meet you.”

Draco is not ashamed to admit he dives under his desk. His sees his traitor office mate stand to motion **Harry FUCKING Potter** over when Draco throws a pencil at him, makes eye contact, and drags his index finger slowly, deliberately across his throat.  _I will kill you._

Luckily his traitor office mate takes this threat seriously and sits back down.

“Who are you? How’d you get in?” Draco hears his boss call out. Bless her soul, kick **that** **bastard** out of here.

“Oh nobody, you know, a regular cog in the wheel, got some support yesterday and wanted to give my thanks.”

A regular cog in the wheel, _yeah fucking right_. Based on yesterday Golden Boy was a lethal killing machine that could execute this entire floor effortlessly with his pinky and eviscerate Draco in less than a second.

“Are you sure you’re in the right office? That sounds like IT support down the hall,” Draco hears his boss say.

Draco prays that **Harry FUCKING Potter** takes this as his cue to leave.

“Our security guard isn’t outside the door, what’s going on?” Draco hears the voice of one of his coworkers call out from where Draco thinks is the entrance to their office space.

Holy shit. Did **Harry FUCKING Potter** kill their security guard?

Draco hears said lethal killing machine chuckle, “oh I told him to take a break,” but it’s laced with a clear edge of danger and the implied statement is: _I’m in the right room, tell me where that person I’m looking for is… or else_.

Draco swallows nervously. Oh god, his traitor office mate has stood up and glances down at Draco hiding nervously. Draco nervously mouths “don’t you dare.” Too late. He hears footsteps head over and a bright “Wow, you look different that I imagined, can I buy you coffee-” and he sees his traitor office mate start to lift his arm to point at Draco’s hiding place, so when Draco sees **Harry FUCKING** **Potter** ’s legs pass by his desk, his survival instincts kick in and he pushes his chair roughly, as hard as he can, to knock the lethal killing machine off balance. Draco vaguely registers the man topple forward and knock his groin into the corner of a desk. _JESUS, FUCK_. But there’s no time to enjoy that yelp of pain because his adrenaline is pumping and he flees from under his desk, ignoring that his entire office is frozen still, and throws open the door to escape into the hallway.

Seeing as a CIA assassin would be bursting out of said door any second now, because Draco personally knows how fast **that man** can recover and move, he finds no place close enough to hide but does spot an individual wearing a nice black CIA cap pass by him. Remembering how well a single cap had _deceived_ him into thinking Agent Black was worth admiration, Draco lunges for it and crams it onto his head. He brushes his hair forward as best he can to cover his face.

Right on cute, the door bursts open and immediately Draco can feel the lethal killing machine’s eyes lock on him. Draco holds up both his hands.

“OH MY GOD PLEASE DO NOT KILL ME!” Draco shrieks.

This, thankfully, causes the man to falter in his determined steps. People milling about the hallways turn to stare, and the man Draco stole a hat from even backs away nervously.

“What? I’m not – I’m just trying to say thank you for yesterday,” **Harry FUCKING Potter** stammers out, as if Draco hadn’t just seen (and helped him) kill like twenty people yesterday.

Draco hears the clack of stilettos on the tile floor and recognizes the grey-haired lady from yesterday.

“Move along everyone, nothing to gawk at,” she commands sternly, and it’s a voice to be followed as people hasten to reach where they were going. Draco turns to go to, but the woman reaches out and _grips_ his shoulder so painfully Draco almost cries.

“Not you, young man. I tried to keep your identity confidential as you… politely requested,” the woman says seriously, “but you made the mistake of telling him your actual job, Agent Black isn’t our best just for his good looks you know.”

“Obviously, he’s _hideous_ ,” is what Draco spits out, knowing this is a complete and utter lie since even though Draco absolutely hates **this man** and the fact that Draco is probably an entire foot shorter than him and **this man** could snap Draco like a fucking twig if he wanted to – **Harry FUCKING Potter** would be easy on the eyes if Draco hadn’t seen him kill like twenty people yesterday.

From behind his bangs Draco can see **Harry FUCKING Potter** ’s face twist in confusion. Hah! Draco had said the quip in a pretty convincing manner. The woman gripping his shoulder loosens her hold and actually lets out a genuine laugh.

“Brilliant! There’s your answer, your _hideous_ face is what scared him away yesterday,” she says.

“Exactly,” agrees Draco trying to inch away again.

Unfortunately, the hand on his shoulder tightens again.

“Now that we’ve established that, and he’s found you anyways, you can’t possibly think we’re letting you go after that spectacular show you put on yesterday,” she says.

Draco almost preens, because well, he did put on a spectacular show yesterday. But then registers the rest of that message. _What did she mean they weren’t letting him go?_

“You’ll be my handler right? Yesterday was _fantastic_!” **this man** (Draco resolutely decides he’s not even going to deign to call **this man** by his name, and was going to distance himself as far as possible, even if it was just mentally) says, clearly delusional.

“I’m not trained,” protests Draco.

“As you said yesterday, but _come on_ that was the smoothest mission I’ve ever had it was like a walk in the park you clearly don’t need any training. Except when you almost forgot to tell me to duck in the elevator that part was a bit dicey -”

Draco feels the need to defend himself.

“I didn’t _forget_ , I just wanted to see how fast you could dodge.”

“ _How fast I could dodge?”_

Okay, maybe Draco shouldn’t have said that. **This man** could certainly take this the wrong way and decide to just kill him right here right now.

“Oh my god I have to have you.”

 _WHAT?_ Is **this man** crazy? Draco had just admitted to experimenting with him in a life or death situation and **this man** liked it?

“Not the appropriate place to discuss this, Agent Black, lets head back down,” says the woman, ushering them both into the elevator that would surely lead Draco to his death.

Draco is careful to face away from **the man** at all times and crosses his arms resolutely to make sure everyone in the elevator knows he is not following them willingly.

The moment the elevator door opens people are crowding him.

“Black you found him! That’s him!”

“Were you seriously just wasting away hacking financials, that was amazing what you did yesterday.”

“You have to show me how you input those measurements.”

“You know you left us stranded down here for a good 10 minutes after fucking up that panel, you are a complete legend.”

 **The man** is getting some hearty slaps on the back from some other men that Draco doesn’t recognize from yesterday. Big scary looking men.

“Saw the footage man, your new handler is _sick_ , can I borrow him for a spin.”

Oh dear lord there are other CIA assassins here. Floor B12 wasn’t just for handlers, it was for their lethal killing machines too.

One man throws his arm around **the man** ’s shoulders and Draco would recognize the shock of disgustingly red hair anywhere. Oh dear lord **Ron FUCKING Weasley** was a CIA assassin as well. Draco faintly remembers the name Granger from yesterday, and Hermione today. _Was the entirety of the Golden Trio working at the CIA?_

“Some space please,” the stern looking woman commands and everyone abruptly backs away.

“Yes ma’am.”

This woman, that Draco has learned right now you do not ever want to cross because CIA assassins defer to her immediately, ushers him and **the man** into her office.

“My name is McGonagall, you can call me M (Authors Note: Sorry, it fit too well, I couldn’t resist the Bond reference!), welcome to my division. We operate solely on Basement level 12, which officially does not exist seeing as how official blueprints only go down as far as B10. I think that adequately explains what we do.”

Actually it doesn’t.

But if yesterday is anything to go by, Draco has more than enough information to know he should get the hell away.

“I respectfully, but wholeheartedly decline, but thank you for the offer I really should be going now,” Draco says, rising and praying he’ll be allowed to leave and won’t have to fumble with another stupid panel to escape again.

“ _Sit down_ ,” M says.

Draco sits down.

“If you can provide an adequate reason, you may decline,” M finally says, her gaze serious but not unreasonable.

If Draco had any sense of control, the next few minutes probably could have gone better. Draco really _really_ should have responded in a calm and reasonable manner. But he doesn’t. He really doesn’t (he donated $5,000,000 to the CIA when he was absolutely wasted and did nothing to cover his tracks so is anyone really surprised when he gets too emotional and makes the mistake of saying...) “I REFUSE TO WORK WITH **HARRY FUCKING POT -** ”

Several things happen at once. M hits a button and the entire room goes red. From his right-side, peripheral vision he can see M with a small silver pistol aimed straight at Draco who is no longer in his chair but on the floor. Because **THE MAN** has tackled him, pinned his arms above his head, and has a very cold something that has a 99.99% chance of being a gun pressed to his forehead. **THE MAN** ’s eyes are completely murderous, lips tight, body completely coiled like a viper and Draco is realizing he physically can’t move any single part of his body. Not his arms, and not his legs. Even better, his left-peripheral vision reveals an entire room of CIA assassins bathed in red training their guns straight at him.

 _HOLY FUCKING CHRIST THIS WAS IT_. His death. Draco was going to die right here, right now.

Draco’s cap is still on, and his face is mostly obscured by his long bangs but he can see **the man** lean forward and open his mouth, teeth glinting – _oh my god **the man**_ _was going to tear his throat out like a wild animal_ – and tear the cap from his head. Draco feels his bangs fall to the side and sees the exact moment **the man** , FINE, Potter, realizes who he has pinned. Might as well die with the name of his murderer in his thoughts.

**“MALFOY?”**

The red disappears instantly, and again several things happen at once. M’s gun disappears, the CIA assassin’s guns disappear (they’re still watching through the glass though), and M clears her throat. Draco realizes the red light indicates some kind of “danger – may need lethal force” trigger.

“You know him, good.”

“Malfoy?” Potter repeats, his voice strangled, confused, and surprisingly not disgusted. Maybe Draco was going to get out of this with all his limbs intact and unharmed. A man could hope. Then again, Potter’s gun is still pressed into his forehead.

“Get off of me you bastard, or just shoot me and put me out of my misery,” Draco snarls, hating the fact that he still couldn’t physical move anything. How the hell was Potter pinning him down so thoroughly?

Thankfully the gun leaves his forehead and Potter, in one fluid motion, releases and hoists Draco back into the seat he had been tackled from and settles back into his own chair as if the whole hellish thing had never happened.

Draco glances through the glass and sees a room full of handlers and assassins gaping. And yes, that is Weasley’s stupid face peering at him through the glass. Weasley’s eyes widen and is pointing directly at Draco when the glass shifts darkly opaque and the three of them are suddenly sitting in privacy.

“You two know each other,” says M, calm as can be. As if she hadn’t leveled a silver pistol at him mere seconds ago. What was wrong with these people?

“I wouldn’t say that,” says Draco taking a deep breath, “We two hate each other.”

“Ah, a childhood rivalry?” asks M, with an infuriating smirk.

Potter snorts besides him and Draco glares at him.

“Potter broke my arm in four fucking places in high school for no good reason,” Draco grits out, and adds “it was my dominant arm I could don’t do anything for months, _anything_ Potter, I couldn’t drive, I couldn’t write, I couldn't even fucking wank properly.”

“Please refrain from using Agent Black’s birth name in any capacity here, ever. For security reasons all birth names of our active CIA agents are confidential,” says M, “as you saw, the use of a birth name is reason to suspect an active kidnapping or blackmail situation is about to unfold and will be dealt with appropriately.

“Right, well since you all can easily find out my birth name since I use it upstairs I’m completely ineligible to work here right?” asks Malfoy hopefully.

Potter shakes his head, “you’re not an agent, you’re a handler – you don’t go out on missions and you certainly don’t know how to kill people so it doesn’t apply,” Potter peers at him curiously, “right? you don’t secretly know how to kill people right?”

“If I knew how to kill people you’d be dead by now,” responds Draco.

Potter, that bastard, grins, “Oh I’d like to see you try.”

“Boys,” M says sternly, “behave.”

Draco motions between them desperately, “this is an adequate reason right? you said if I had an adequate reason I could decline.”

M is looking at her computer and projects a file onto a screen behind her.

“I realize now I shouldn’t have done the background check on you separately, it really was my mistake that I didn’t catch you went to the same high school, but I’ve done a side-by-side background check and compatibility match just now and this is what we have.”

The clearly faulty compatibility match pronounces a 94% green lit score. There’s even a fucking exclamation point at the end, and small font that says “positive recommendation.”

Potter grins beside him, “I knew I felt something click into place yesterday, we were on the same wavelength.”

_Why was Potter even agreeing to this?_

“Does it take into account that he broke my arm in four fucking places for no good reason?”

Potter snorts besides him.

M clicks on a small text box floating in the bottom right corner.

“It says you allegedly rigged a chemical bomb to explode in his hood during the chemistry lab midterm,” says M.

“Allegedly,” repeats Draco.

“It blew up in my face and if my godfather hadn’t been training me to duck from flashes of light my face would have burned off. I could have gone blind,” states Potter matter-of-factly, “and I heard you say _how did it miss I know I timed it_ right after.”

Draco only picks up on the “godfather” and “training” part.

“Are you telling me you broke my arm with your lethal killing machine skills? That your godfather Sirius Black taught you? Who I am now assuming is some kind of CIA assassin because you used the word training as if you were training to become a CIA assassin back in high school?” asks Draco incredulously. 

“Shit,” says Potter.

M sighs. “Agent Black, please refrain from sharing any more personal information before Mr. Malfoy gets confirmed as your handler.”

“Look,” says Potter, “you know you pissed me off back then because that wasn’t like the usual harmless pranks we pulled on each other. You almost completely derailed my entire future career at this agency.”

M makes a disapproving noise, but Potter, that brave bastard, shoulders on.

“So yes, I broke your arm when I twisted it, but you’re really fucking fragile you know that? I didn’t know that would happen since I grappled with Sirius all the time and nothing like that ever happened so it was an honest mistake even though you knew exactly what that chemical bomb could burn off. But you know what? I really don’t care about that stupid shit anymore, we’re doing really important work here, people’s lives are being threatened, _innocent people are dying every day_ , and if you can help me, and _I know you can_ , then I want you to be my handler.”

Well shit.

Draco remembers Potter’s sweeping heroic speeches about destroying class structure and his involvement in all those stupid advocate groups that Draco honestly gave zero fucks about. The impassioned speech being directed at him is new though.

Thankfully, Draco feels no compulsions to protect those innocent people Potter cares so much about.

But Draco does like the 3x3 screens on B12 and likes the idea of getting to boss Potter around and also likes the idea of getting carte blanche to hack into anything he wants to like he did yesterday with a bevy of nice equipment and tactical support all at his fingertips.

So Draco weighs the pros and cons for a few minutes, and then remembers M saying “before Mr. Malfoy gets confirmed as your handler” because he’s not an idiot and realizes he’s not _actually_ being given a choice.

“Fine,” Draco says and is disgusted to see that Potter brightens, “but not to protect those stupid innocent people because I want a completely new 3x3 set up with all my personal specifications and a better headset and secure line set up because the static yesterday almost killed my hearing.”

M nods and reaches out her hand.

“And,” Draco adds, “and I want my traitor office mate upstairs fired because he _betrayed_ me to Agent Black (this correct use of name earns Draco an approving look from M which oddly makes him feel proud, damn M).”

They shake and M replies “done and done, anything for our best agent.”

Potter grins.

Draco wants to explode another chemical bomb in Potter’s face but makes do with knowing Potter’s likely going to be shot at in the near future and Draco gets to watch the entire thing. Draco closes his eyes and also thinks of his new shiny toys. A whole extra screen to watch Greys Anatomy and McSteamy.

** Mission 1 + 2 days.  **

Things move quickly on floor B12. Weasley, no, _Agent Red_ must have been ordered to keep his distance because although the redhead glowers at him from a distance he doesn’t approach. Handler Granger does though, as she’s been assigned to get him up to speed, train him up a bit, and make sure he knows he can’t refer to any of them by name. Apparently Granger and Agent Red are married and no one else in the office knows except for M, Agent Black, and now Draco.

Draco has no fucking idea how he feels about that. He literally has the power to leak the name of Agent Red’s wife, which could set in motion a horrific blackmail situation that leads to Agent Red murdering the entirety of CIA to protect his wife, except of course, Agent Black could probably stop him because, as everyone keeps point out, Agent Black as _the best_.

Handler Granger laughs when Draco describes this particular situation.

“We’ve all gone through a thorough vetting process to ensure our loyalty to the agency in all situations,” she says. “And if you’ve been hired then I trust their decision you’re not going to leak names or purposely get Agent Black killed.”

Draco doesn’t really remember this "thorough" vetting process but does remember a hazy dream of getting pricked by a needle last night and being asked various questions he can’t really remember. He remembers saying “I honestly don’t care about the American government or the British government I really just don’t want to get married to some stupid heiress and sit in a stupid estate all the time so this is probably the best job ever and I would never jeopardize that” and “What would I do with more money? I could hack into the Cayman Islands and take millions in seconds, but only if I got tired of waiting to inherit the $50,000,000 that’s already earmarked for me.”

Draco’s not sure what this says about the agency if those ludicrous, but true, answers were enough for them to entrust him with the life of their _best agent_.

After Handler Granger passes him off to someone that’s supposed to show him how to use the pre-set programs designed to redirect traffic in almost every country in the world, and said someone expresses his admiration that Draco’s been assigned to Agent Black, Draco can’t help but resist telling him “I almost burned his face off with a chemical bomb.” This someone chuckles nervously.

When Draco gets sent for a physical and to get a special tracker injected into his arm, he tells the nurse who also gushes about Agent Black (apparently Potter is a huge charmer with the ladies) “I almost burned his face off with a chemical bomb.” This nurse looks concerned and goes to make a phone call.

Draco is about to tell the big scary man that most likely is an agent, who popped in to tell him to take care of their best agent, clearly referring, yet again, to Agent Black, that he almost burned his face off with a chemical bomb when Handler Granger rushes in and shoos everyone out.

“Handler Malfoy, stop telling people that. People are actually concerned you might have a vendetta against him.”

Draco looks at him like she’s crazy.

“I **do** have a vendetta against him,” Draco says.

Handler Granger gapes at him, pulls herself together, and bites out “he told me you might act like this and I promised to not make any judgements until I’ve seen you work together, which coincidently is scheduled for tomorrow, he’s already on a flight to Moscow, and if he dies I am going to stab you a million times until you wish you’d never fucked with any of us.”

Draco resolves to have a little more self-control and reminds himself he is in a pit of highly trained and high strung vipers and shouldn’t poke any more beasts just for the hell of it. Draco tries to see if Handler Granger can explain why M is even allowing Draco to "handle" their precious agent, and Handler Granger just explains that Agent Black gets anything he wants. This doesn’t seem fair until Handler Granger tells him that Agent Black always takes the most dangerous missions that no one else wants to touch. If a man is that willing to put his life on the line, well the CIA can damn well give him anything he wants. Plus, apparently Potter can more than take care of himself. Draco remembers the hack job the handler he'd displaced the day before had been conducting and concedes this might be true.

Still, as Handler Granger stalks away, Draco actually worries whether he can avoid any major fuck-ups tomorrow. What if the first time had been complete luck and he actually got their best agent killed tomorrow because he hadn’t paid any attention to anything anyone had said today.

Draco does not want to get stabbed a million times by Handler Grander.

FUCK.

He spends all night at his flat going through the plans, re-writing code, re-checking access points, re-doing vantage points, and trying to get any and all information he can about the Moscow group members that are suspected to be there. Draco knows that plans are made to be broken and he’ll have to be on his toes to get new information once Potter’s on the ground. 

** Mission 2. **

It’s pretty jarring to be woken up to a stream of people in his flat, people who can only be described as a full suited SWAT team.

Handler Granger takes one look at him, the notes he'd fallen asleep on, and his kitchen table filled with other scribbles and plans and softens immediately.

Fuck.

“Come on Handler Malfoy, Agent Black is scheduled to jump in about 30 minutes and you’re supposed to be at the office already.”

Fuck.

Handler Granger motions to everything on his table, “Gather all this up and let’s go-”

Draco puts up a hand to stop them.

“It’s fine, I have everything I need in here,” Draco says, tapping his head.

Handler Granger looks down at the complex sheets, “if you say so, it’s your show today.”

Draco lets himself get hauled to his feet and escorted down the hall. Except instead of heading down they’re heading up.

“Helicopter,” Handler Granger says, handing him a steaming cup of his favorite coffee – a pumpkin spice latte and it isn’t even fall.

He doesn’t even want to ask how they know he likes these and how they got what tastes like an honest-to-god Starbucks pumpkin spice latte in the middle of summer.

They get down to B12 in record time, and Draco’s almost completely awake when he sees his perfectly new touch screen set up. There’s a nervous energy buzzing about the room and he knows it’s directed at him. Handler Grander has her own station set up and running behind his station, and Draco realizes that she’s backup – if Draco completely fucks up she’s ready to take over. He grits his teach as he starts up his own screens and gets on his knees to double check that everything is securely in place. His chair is already positioned at the perfect level to his desk so he can’t even nervously adjust that.

When Draco slides his headset on he can hear some banal chatter through the head piece.

“This controls the airlock right, and this is the autopilot button right?” Potter is asking.

Draco clicks on the agent point-of-view cam. Potter is at the front of a plane in front of a large panel of hundreds of blinking buttons that Draco doesn’t know anything about, but a couple keystrokes later and he has the plane’s make and model from the mission reports, downloads the original plane blueprints from the company’s backlogs, scales it to size, and their functions are overlaid onto the screen.

He zooms in on what Potter is pointing at. 

Potter is attempting to name all the tiny buttons in the bottom right, all identical except for their position – for random lights scattered about the plane.

The pilot is nodding along to everything Potter is pointing at and naming, which currently has all be correct.

“Actually, that one is for the back right light not the back left light,” says Draco when Potter finally makes a mistake.

Potter snaps his head up even though Malfoy is clearly not on the plane. “Malfoy! Hey! I heard you were running late like,” Potter checks his watch, “15 minutes ago.”

“Lies,” says Draco, ignoring Handler Granger’s huff from behind him, “that would be really irresponsible of me.”

Potter laughs and considers the panel of buttons again, “thanks for the catch Malfoy, I think you’re right about the side.”

“Of course I’m right Black, I’m have the blueprints with me.”

“You want to quiz me before I have to jump of this plane and plummet 30,000 feet?”

“No,” says Draco, “I want to drink my coffee in peace before you go on a murdering rampage.”

Draco hears some indignant noises behind him “disrespectful,” “did he actually just say that,” and his personal favorite “I would kill for the chance to quiz Agent Black.”

“Also, it’s not 30,000 feet. It’s 30,015 feet.”

“Just seeing if you would catch that,” says Potter.

“Well if I didn’t, I wouldn’t know when to tell you to release the chute and you’d crash and die and then Hermione would stab me a million times,” says Draco, a little spitefully.

“Well we don’t want that do we,” says Potter.

“ **No, we don’t** ,” says Draco forcefully.

“Don’t worry, I know my way around a chute and will release it when I release it,” says Potter, “if I die it won’t be your fault.”

“If you don’t release that chute exactly when I tell you I’m going to lead you into a _death trap on purpose_ just to make you fight your way out and you know I’m not kidding,” says Draco.

There’s now a fair amount of chattering going on behind him but no one has ripped him out of his chair and Handler Granger has remained silent during the whole exchange so apparently Draco threatening to lead Potter into a _death trap_ is completely kosher.

“You’re almost over Moscow, Black, you ready?” asks Draco, remembering in his manual that this is something he’s supposed to tell his Agent.

Surprisingly, Potter’s vitals tick up in a way that indicates stress.

Draco pulls up some of Potter’s mission histories and quickly does a search on any parachuting accidents. He finds a minor one and skims it quickly, some type of mistimed jumped that resulted in Potter having to go catch an agent on his way down.

Diagnosis: anxiety leading up to (but not during) jumps.

Recommendations: none, does not affect actionable skill set.

So it won’t affect Potter’s performance. But the stress ticking higher and higher is annoying Draco. Draco decides he may as well experiment again.

“So, I made a mistake,” lies Draco, “it’s all these damn clouds causing the GPS to glitch but good thing I double-checked because you still have a little bit further to go, just wait by the airlock and I’ll tell you when you’re actually almost over Moscow.”

Potter’s stress plummets.

Interesting how Draco making a mistake causes no stress, but just the announcement that it’s almost time to jump does. The chattering behind him intensifies, because Potter is, actually, directly over Moscow and should be jumping in about 10 seconds. Draco can hear someone murmur “um” behind him as his screen flashes 2 seconds.

Draco sits up straighter in his chair.

“Okay I lied, you need to jump right now, like don’t even question it,  **just jump right fucking now**.”

Potter, to Draco’s delight, doesn't hesitate and ends up jumping exactly when Draco’s screen flashes 0.

Draco looks at the vitals, stress level: none.

Score.

It’s like a video game.

Potter doesn’t say anything so Draco doesn’t say anything.

After double checking Potter’s speed, the wind speed, and factoring the little draft for Potter’s freaking coat he forgot to zip all the way up, Draco times the release down to milliseconds.

“ **Now**.”

Potter releases the chute.

A couple minutes later Potter drops silently into a pitch back camp of sleeping Russians, right behind a large stockpile of wood as planned.

Potter steps on a twig.

“Can you be any louder, are you trying to wake up the whole camp?” asks Draco, bored about just how professional he had managed to be in the past 10 minutes.

“You’re fucking louder than the twig Malfoy, shut up,” answers Potter.

“No, I’m not. This earpiece is configured precisely so only you can hear unless someone in that camp has superhuman daredevil levels of hearing and is standing right next to you.”

“When I have to answer you, _I’m louder than the fucking twig_.”

“Then don’t answer me and just listen.”

“I’m not going to let you just insult me and not respond.”

“Well that’s your choice and if that’s what wakes up all the sleeping Russians than that’s entirely your fault.”

Draco delights in the heavy breathing that indicates that Potter is not pleased but has chosen to shut up.

This is amazing.

Draco can literally say anything he wants and Potter can’t yell back at him. _Why hadn’t Draco wanted this job from the beginning?_

“ **Stop** ,” commands Draco.

Potter stops. Oh my god. Exactly like a fucking video game. This. Was. Awesome.

“Okay there’s a pretty shitty computer set up in front of that tent at your 3, approximately 12 yards away, but I think that’s what I’m looking for. There should be a USB port on the left side of the laptop, just stick in whatever the tech guys gave you.”

Potter carefully heads in that direction. For such an imposing figure, Potter is deadly silent. The coms are rigged to pick up the tiniest bits of noise but there’s absolutely no noise beyond a few tree leaves being rustled by the wind.

However, just for good measure, Draco adds “and don’t step on anymore twigs.”

Potter grunts his displeasure but doesn’t say anything. Draco takes a long sip of his pumpkin spice latte. Potter inserts the USB and hides behind a nearby tree like a good little video game character, probably waiting to hear what Draco finds. He skims through the unprotected files, the Russians certainly weren’t expecting anyone to drop into their camp in the middle of the night to see what kind of weapons they were moving, and almost spits out his coffee when he realizes they’re not moving weapons like the CIA thought.

Well, not weapons like guns.

These Russians have weapons like **bombs** , stored in metal vats.

“Um,” says Draco, “so you might think I’m joking but I’m really not.”

“What,” says Potter in a low tone, “what did you find?”

“I promise,” says Draco, slightly hysterical, “I promise I did not set this up because I have a vendetta against you, **for the record I did not set this up**.”

There goes the chattering behind him. Handler Granger must have also combed through the USB files too because she lets out a snort.

“Malfoy,” says Potter, “what are you talking about?”

“So they don’t have guns like we thought,” says Draco taking a deep breathe, “they have giant chemical bombs all rigged up to explode and they’re planning on selling them in just a few hours.”

Complete silence. 

“And the best course of action is to just blow all the bombs up intentionally _really carefully_ without blowing up your own face, and then because I think they’re located right in the middle of camp because the tents are set up in a circle about 400 meters away from the blast radius, you know, which is smart because it means _they won’t get blown up_ if the bombs blow up but it does mean you won’t be able to kill anyone with the bomb before they wake up and realize something has gone wrong. They’re probably armed in their little tent beds and this will certainly wake them up and that’s why there aren’t any guards awake because seriously, who would put themselves in the middle of a _death trap_ for a couple of measly chemical bombs?”

Complete silence. 

“I know I said I wouldn’t lead you into a _death trap_ if you released the parachute when I said to... Which you did, that was great by the way.”

Complete silence.

“Sorry,” says Draco, unapologetically.

Complete silence.

"They really do have chemical bombs, and I swear this is the best course of action, and not just because I've been wanting to blow up another chemical bomb in your face," says Draco.

Complete silence.

“Good luck Agent Black,”says Draco, and then adds “again, sorry about the _death trap_.”

“Stop calling it a fucking _death trap_ ,” hisses Potter, finally. 

Draco checks his no-longer unresponsive video game character’s vitals. Still no stress. Jesus. Agent Black was like a locked playable with god-levels of stats.

“Okay well, get to the bombs into the center and let’s take a look at what they have rigged up, I’m an expert on these things you know,” says Draco, grateful his vitals aren’t hooked up to any readouts because his own levels of stress were likely sky high.

“I know,” says Potter forcefully. That does result in a tiny uptick of stress. Which serves Potter right for being so calm in the face of a _death trap_.

“Don’t worry,” says Draco, “I also have it on good authority that you are an expert on dodging these things.”

“You’re welcome,” adds Draco.

Draco is delighted to hear Hermione make a choked sound behind him.

Potter doesn't respond. 

It goes pretty well all things considered. Potter grabs the Russian laptop chock full of useful data, their primary objective, sets off the bombs following Draco's directions, and uses his super agility to get the fuck out of the blast radius, their secondary objective, and gets a good scan of all the weapons that are shooting at him, their third objective – since gathering more intel on what weapons Russians have access to is always an objective.Those Russians, always getting their sneaky little hands on dangerous weapons. There’s so much smoke and gunfire and angry Russians shooting that Draco is pretty much useless the moment the bombs go off since there aren’t any cameras like back in the evil conglomerate building Potter had been in a couple days ago. There’s only the cams on Potter.

Potter displays what he does best, dodging bullets, incapacitating men, all while making sure the laptop is tucked securely under his left arm to avoid any damage from stray bullets that might compromise the data.

So essentially Potter fights off an entire camp of angry Russians with one arm. And the whole thing comes off as a trailer for the title of the deadliest man on the planet. It’s impressive, but Draco makes sure to note that Potter had the advantage of being hidden in a cloud of smoke which results in a lot of the angry Russians not knowing there was just one Potter rather than an entire invading group of CIA agents (it wouldn't be good to let himself get too impressed by Potter after all).

In fact Draco adds it to the report he's supposed to turn in at the end of the mission. "Agent Black is assisted by a cloud of smoke." Then tags "cloud of smoke" as an ally, adds it to the list of Black's friendly associates, and makes a note that says "ally was imperative to success of mission."  

When Potter gets clear of the camp, panting hard, he finally addresses Draco again.

“How’d I do?” Potter asks in a bright and proud tone.

Draco mentally goes through his original timeline. Potter should have been out and headed to extraction point 4 minutes earlier. To be fair, that hadn’t taken into account deliberately exploding chemical bombs and fighting off a camp of angry Russians (by Draco's estimated that should have added at least an extra 15 minutes), but he wasn’t going to tell Potter that.

“Well you’re 4 minutes behind schedule and your extraction team is just waiting for you and wasting valuable CIA dollars so you better get a move on, and do better next time,” answers Draco flatly. 

Handler Granger bursts out laughing from behind him, there’s huge amounts of chatter around him, and lots of hands patting him on the shoulder. Jesus, what was wrong with these people. Draco had just made their best agent blow up giant chemical bombs, fight himself out of a clear _death trap,_ and then told him to do better.

“I love you,” says Potter, laughing. And Draco’s heart stops.

** Mission 2 + 1 day. **

“You two make an exhilarating pair, I get why Agent Black demanded you,” Handler Granger tells him during Draco’s solo debrief, all smiles and friendliness now, “I knew you were smart in high school but didn’t know you were hiding all that!” 

“I wasn’t sure if I should put the already too-volatile Agent Black in the hands of someone also too-volatile, but together you seem to be able to control the resulting chaos,” M tells him during Draco’s solo debrief, approvingly, “perhaps a little less deliberate provocation of your agent next time.”

God, Potter was now _his agent_.

"Also what is this about Agent Black having a new associate named "cloud of smoke?"

Draco fucks out of the room immediately without answering. 

“Are you sure you don’t have any childhood trauma or military training? You have an extremely high tolerance for violence and have an alarmingly low regard for human life,” says the shrink that’s supposed to evaluate whether he’s psychologically sound after going through two pretty bloody missions.

“Do video games count?” asks Draco.

The shrink frowns disapprovingly. 

“I’m just a horrible person,” supplies Draco.

The shrink writes something down and Draco later hacks the security feed to read _uses humor as a defense mechanism, appropriate response considering the missions, clear_.

Draco honestly couldn’t care less about angry Russians dying but if the shrink thinks that he was joking about being a horrible person, well, if it gets him cleared he wasn’t going to complain.

When Draco is done with his solo debriefs, Handler Granger tells him that Agent Black is in the medical wing of B12, and that they have one last quick debrief with M together before they’re done for the day. As Draco heads over to the medical wing to pick up _his agent_ , he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. It was one thing to make fun of Potter over the comms and just imagine he was a lethal killing machine video game character, and another to face him in person. The last time they’d been face to face, he’d been pinned down, completely immobile, and Potter had ripped his hat off with his teeth.

Draco would be lying if the thought of getting _pinned down_ against wasn’t getting his blood plumping in a dangerously thrilling way.

Potter is lying shirtless on the medical examination table like a wet dream come to life. Eyes closed he doesn’t look so menacing, but Draco knows there’s at least 250 lbs of pure lethal muscle lying there, especially from the scattering of healing scars littered across his chest and arms. There’s also a couple of fully healed wounds that have to be bullet holes from their circular shape and puckered edges. Draco can’t help himself and reaches out to trace the one on Potter’s right hip.

The moment his index finger touches the warm skin, Potter’s body springs to life, his hand engulfing Draco’s skinny wrist, locking it in place.

“Draco,” says Potter. Potter’s been calling him Malfoy all day, why the sudden change? Feeling daring, Draco says, “Harry.”

Potter freezes and Draco yelps in pain when Potter squeezes his wrist too hard.

“You can’t call me that here,” says Potter, tensed.

“Black,” Draco concedes. But makes note of the fact that Potter said "can't" and “here” instead of “don’t.”

Interesting.

Potter glances down at what Draco’s index finger is touching.

“That’s old,” says Potter, “a couple years ago.”

“Obviously,” says Draco, “I’m not stupid.”

Potter smiles. “Obviously.”

And because Draco isn’t stupid, he finally understands why Potter _honestly_ doesn’t seem to hate him at all anymore. It would be impossible not to, seeing all the old scars and bullet wounds that just scream about all the times Potter has thrown himself into a mission for his country. A stupid high school rival was nothing compared to the people he was fighting against now. Draco almost feels disappointed that he hasn’t left a big impact on Potter. And Draco feels this need to also be responsible _for leaving a scar_. Jesus fucking Christ. He had some serious problems.

Draco inspects the rest of Potter’s torso.

“What are you looking at?”

Draco pulls off the sheet covering Potter’s legs and there’s a couple bandages on his right leg.

“Think those will scar?” Draco asks.

Potter nods, “yeah I got nicked by a couple bullets but nothing punctured.”

Draco isn’t sure what face he’s making but something makes Potter _reassure him_. “Really, it was completely my fault I didn’t notice some guys I knocked down were still conscious and holding their guns.”

“Oh please,” says Draco, “you got those on our official first mission together so those are **my scars**.”

“ **Mine** ,” Draco repeats, hoping they turn out to be giant, ugly scars.

Potter is just staring at him, and Draco sees something flicker behind the intense green eyes. What? _What?_

“We have to debrief together with M, so don’t just lie there let’s go,” says Draco.

Draco turns to go but Potter still has a tight grip on his wrist.

“I’m supposed to let these bandages set for a couple more minutes,” says Potter.

“Fine,” says Draco, making no move to free his wrist. Draco ignores the fact that Potter doesn’t free his wrist either.

  **Mission 3, 4, and 5.**

Missions 3 and 4 go smoother. Potter and Draco fall into a comfortable banter and Draco knows he’s not saying as mean things as he could. **Except**. _Of course there’s an except_. Because he’s Draco Malfoy.

Mission 3: the assassination in Southern France goes fine.

Except Draco “forgets” to turn off the sprinkler system in Southern France and Potter has to fight through a crowd of security guards drenched and vision obscured by water that Draco knows is almost freezing. Draco knows the water is almost freezing because he made sure to set the water that cold when he discovered the system the day before. He likes to think it’s the water that causes Potter to get punched in the face and has to sport an impressive black eye on B12 for the rest of the week.

Potter doesn’t say anything about it.

Mission 4: another reconnaissance mission in Moscow goes fine.

Except Draco “forgets” to tell him about the dog the Moscow camp has and Potter gets bitten on his left ankle. Potter will be fine because Draco made sure to sneak in an extra shot of rabies vaccine in a routine physical two days before so Potter’s white blood cells are primed to fight off the infection _if_ Potter gets bitten. But who is Draco kidding? Of course Potter gets bitten, Draco led him right to the owner of the dog’s tent on purpose. Draco also slipped in an extra case of pain medication into the tech pack that was handed off to Potter the day before he flew out on the mission.

Potter doesn’t say anything about it.

Mission 5: rescue of British agents from Shanghai goes **not fine**.

Draco doesn’t get the chance to pretend to have forgotten to tell Potter that his target in Shanghai that has a girlfriend tasked with keeping the high tech keycard safe, actually has three girlfriends. Because Potter figures this out almost immediately when he enters the hotel. The high tech keycard that opens the cell with British agents is on one of three women. And the cell is unfortunately very un-hackable from offsite and Draco isn’t trained to go onsite to missions yet. So Potter has to discreetly figure out which girlfriend has the key.

Draco thought it would be a harder dilemma, except Potter apparently has tons of experience of being a honey-trap.

Potter easily seduces the first with a charming smile, sweet words, and the two scramble into the coat closet and moments later Draco is greeted by a front seat view of a gasping and moaning brunette woman writhing under the touch of Potter’s hands. The woman’s dress slips to the ground, and Potter’s fingers slip into her like he’s done this a million times.

Draco analyses the noises the woman is making and compares it to fake patterns commonly found in porn. No match. The woman is responding honestly to whatever the hell Potter is doing with his fingers.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

No key card either.

Potter easily seduces the second with a flinty grin, wicked dirty talk that Draco didn’t even know Potter could say with a straight face and sound like he means it, and the two scramble into the same fucking coat closet and moments later Draco is again greeted by a front seat view of a different gasping and moaning brunette woman writhing under the touch of Potter’s hands. The woman’s dress also slips to the ground, and Potter’s fingers also slip into her.

Draco doesn’t need to analyze anything this time to know the woman is orgasming to whatever the hell Potter is doing with his fingers.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

By now Draco is so hard it’s painful. And he literally can’t do anything about it because he’s at work, supposed to be “handling” Agent Black who clearly needs zero direction on anything that involves seducing women. A couple agents stop by to leer at the screen, _Agent Black never fails to get the woman_ they say. Handler Granger shoos them away disapprovingly and tells Draco he shouldn’t let them linger too long.

“It’s just for the mission but we shouldn’t take pleasure in taking advantage of people, especially sexually,” she says.

Draco thinks this is hypocritical because everyone crowds around to watch when Potter completely lethally decimates criminals but apparently sex is where they draw the line? But if it gets people away from his desk, and away from noticing that Draco might come in his pants imagining Potter’s fingers inside of him then he wasn’t going to say anything.

Draco is regretting a lot of his choices right now. Like not taking the time to figure out which girlfriend had the key card so he doesn’t have to sit through this.

No key card again.

“Third times the charm,” says Potter through the comm, “I didn’t think it would be the hot one because that’s such a cliché.”

The third one _is_ the hot one, a leggy blonde with blue eyes, slim frame, and a generous bust size. She doesn’t fare much better when Potter starts to lean in and enchant her with sharp compliments laden with innuendo.

“I’m taking her into my room to make sure I get the card,” Potter whispers into the comm, “I can probably find it and slip it in under the door and distract her while someone else frees the agents from the cell. If they can slip it back under within an hour I don’t think she’ll even notice I’ve taken it.”

Draco scrambles to get the directions off to some other agents outside, almost forgetting he has a job to do too with all this sexual activity occurring on his screen. As a completely homosexual man usually grossed out by heterosexual sex, Potter was proving to be an unfortunate exception.

Potter leads the blonde into his room and she falls easily onto his bed. Draco is literally frozen in his swiveling chair as Potter peels off his own shirt and pins her to the bed. Draco swallows. The blonde says something stupid about Potter being a bad man with all his scars and bullet wounds, and is almost grateful that Potter chooses to kiss the woman to shut her up. But then there’s sounds of moaning and groaning and kissing flooding through to Draco’s headset and Draco cannot believe that his job requires him to _watch and listen to Potter fuck this woman_. Seeing Potter's fingers work is entirely different from seeing Potter's cock. Potter carefully slips the dress off her and Draco spots something shiny tucked into her bra.

“The bra,” Draco points out, relieved his voice doesn’t betray any of the attraction he feels at the moment.

Potter leans up to kiss the woman again, and from the room’s corner video, Draco can see Potter’s fingers unhook the bra and carefully catch the keycard before casually getting off the bed and claiming he has condoms in the bathroom.

Draco tells the agent standing outside the door to get condoms immediately to exchange for the keycard. The exchange happens in under 30 seconds, and then Potter is climbing back into bed and legitimately fucks the woman in at least 5 different positions, confidently, expertly, fluidly, and she orgasms at least 3 times. Potter comes once also, at the end, and the soft moan and grunt of pleasure almost makes Draco pass out from want. _Does Potter fuck men like that? Would Potter fuck Draco like that?_  

This had made it impossible to ignoring just how fucking hot Potter was. Especially since Draco doesn’t hate the man anymore (when did that happen?), and possibly likes him a little because doing missions with him is exciting and fun. And watching Potter fuck someone for almost an hour was like watching personalized porn tailored to his fantasies. Draco had always been even more turned on by the sight of a thick cock thrusting, usually in rhythm going in and out of his ass, but depending on the angle of Potter's self-camera...well... And the woman was blond for fuck’s sake and when her back was to the camera’s...Draco knows he’s about the same height and he’s just as if not slimmer than this woman.

It’s a complete disaster but miraculously Draco keeps it together just enough to facilitate the rest of the mission before sneaking off to the bathroom to wipe the cameras so they don’t even record his entrance into the bathroom so he can rut against his hand until he comes, hard, and quietly. Cleanly, because Draco has to do his fucking solo debrief now.

Again, Potter doesn’t say anything about the mission and acts business as usual.

Except Draco can’t stop fantasizing about Potter now and it _pisses him off_.

** Mission 5 + 1 day. **

Draco takes a look at the upcoming missions and sees there’s one penciled in a week to rescue more stupid British agents that have been captured and there’s another stupid fucking criminal that is rumored to have given another fucking keycard to another fucking girlfriend and they’re supposed to be at a giant hotel opening in a week.

Draco immediately signs up for onsite mission training and because he’s brilliant with firearms with no hesitation when firing (they’re blanks he’s told later, when he asks why none of the men in bulletproof vests seem particularly scared, but then they do look slightly alarmed when Draco lets it slip he thought they were real bullets) he’s passed in a couple days even though he’s absolute shit at hand to hand combat. His instructor said Draco just didn’t have the frame for it, but that he thought if Draco always carried a knife he would be okay.

Potter, that traitor, protests and suggests that Draco is not at all prepared to go to onsite missions but Draco threatens to blare nursery rhymes over the comms on their next mission and Potter, wisely, chooses to shut up.

**Mission 6.**

So Draco goes to the onsite rescue mission and instead of seducing the girlfriend, Potter is tasked with getting a USB into any desktop terminal in the facility holding the British agents so Draco can onsite hack it open through bluetooth.

“Is this really more fun than the other way?” asks Potter skillfully ducking into more corridors to avoid detection, “I thought you enjoyed the view last week.”

Draco doesn’t dignify that with a response but “accidentally” leads Potter to dead end.

“I know I heard you gasp a couple times,” says Potter when he realizes he needs to make a U-turn because Draco has directed him to go straight through a wall, “was it one of the brunettes or the blonde that you liked? I can’t remember.”

“The terminal is in the room to your right,” says Draco, regretting he hadn't been able to find another dead end to lead his agent into. Potter slips into the room and slides the USB in quickly on the console. Draco makes quick work of the security and has the British agent’s cells sliding open in just a few moments.

“Get out now,” says Draco, “don’t trip over your over-inflated ego on the way.”

“It’s coming back to me,” says Potter, “I’m sure it was the blonde... but that’s weird Malfoy, she kinda looked like you from the back.”

_And the fact that Potter had noticed the blonde looked like Draco from the back?_

Malfoy checks the cameras and sees the British agents are safely on their way out. He also checks and sees that Potter’s exit is clear as well. He then checks to see if there is a sprinkler system. The water isn’t almost freezing but it would have to do. He isolates it to go off _only_ in Potter’s exit path and then promptly tells Potter, “go fuck yourself,” before disconnecting the line.

Draco waits patiently in the back of the van for a soon to be pissed off Potter. He locks the van doors for good measure.

A couple minutes later, there’s pounding on the doors.

“Fuck. Did you lock this Malfoy? And the sprinklers? Again? Why are your comms off? Are you okay? _Why is this locked?_ ”

Draco flings open the doors and hears a satisfying crunch when one of the doors hits Potter's nose. Of course, Draco also loses his balances and falls on top of a shirtless very wet and very concerned looking Harry Potter.

Who is rapidly looking angrier and angrier realizing that there is nothing wrong with Draco or his equipment in the van.

“Usually it’s cute when you sabotage something small because it keeps me on my toes because there’s actually a lesson to be learned about how I can’t always rely on you to be perfect, but _this time_ I know I didn’t set anything off so _I know_ you just turned the sprinklers on yourself. Directly on my path because I saw all the hallways that didn’t have _any sprinklers on_.”

Angry Potter is hot. Wet, shirtless, angry Potter is even hotter. So despite the fact that Potter is very angry, which usually just delights Draco, Draco also just wants to _lick him_.

“Oh did I say something to piss you off? You can’t act like a princess about this because you’re the one always insulting me on missions. I decide to make fun of you this one time and you just let loose the sprinklers I know you know I hate?” is what Potter is raging from beneath him.

Potter is just letting Draco _sit on him_ on top of gravel, right outside of a very armed facility they had just broken in to and out of, like it was completely normal for Potter to be laying on top of sharp rocks like it was the beach. Draco is straddling his agent’s lap while his agent’s bare back was just lying on top of gravel and his agent wasn't making any movement to throw Draco off of him.  

And Potter doesn’t seem to be in any pain at all, even when Draco leans forward and presses Potter’s shoulder deep into said gravel and grinds down on the lap he's sitting on. Draco can even hear the gravel crunch under Potter's body.

Fuck.

Maybe Potter was a masochist, which would explain a lot.

“Are you listening to me?” asks Potter, as if he’s only just realizing that Draco has paid absolute no attention to anything Potter has just said.

“Fuck me,” is what Draco says, staring into his agent’s eyes. Because Draco has **no self-control** and it’s gotten him this far in this very dangerous and exciting life so why not.

 **“FUCK ME,”** is what Draco says again, making it very clear he’s not saying it in a flippant “what kind of situation have I have found myself in” euphemism.

“Do I need to turn on my comms to get you **fuck me** because I will if I have to,” is what Draco says, again, to the rapidly gaping agent being sat on. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get an answer because this is when the British agents finally exit the building, spot them across the street, and speedily make their way over. Like it’s an unwritten rule that nondescript white vans are always secret government agencies.

Potter finally pushes himself off the gravel, and because he’s strong, is hauling Draco to his feet too. Draco is stuffed immediately back into the van and the group of other British agents soon follow. Potter of course, hauls ass to the driver’s seat and soon they’re making impossibly good time through the streets. Draco can see that Potter’s shoulder are tense through the metal grating separating the front seats from the back of the van and he’s also stressed as indicated by the increasingly high bars of his vital signs that Draco can spot on his portable laptop on the floor of the van.

Well it’s about time.

The British agents of course, have no idea what has transpired between Agent Black and Handler Malfoy so they’re in good spirits with their thanks and compliments.

One even tells Draco he’s the prettiest thing he’s seen all week.

The laptop is on silent now, but Draco is _extremely pleased_ to see that Potter’s vitals spike right after the comment is made and are veering towards the red zone of high stress.

No time like the present to experiment with his Agent’s stress levels.

“You’re welcome,” purrs Draco, “I don’t believe I know your name, agent.”

“You single?” asks the agent boldly.

“Does it matter?” responds Draco, “I’ve actually just been rejected so I’m in a particularly daring mood tonight.”

The other British agents are whooping, high off adrenaline from the escape, and delighted one of their own is successfully hitting on a CIA handler.

Draco eyes the laptop and it’s happened. Potter’s vitals are 100% in the zone of high stress. Before Draco can even think about what’s going to happen next the brakes are slammed and the van comes to complete stop.

“Out,” barks Potter.

The British agents are confused.

To be honest, so is Draco.

“Your extraction point is a quick 4-and-a-half-mile jog to the north and I’ve just been notified of another urgent assignment so I can’t transport you there,” says Potter. And the British agents are well trained and they debark immediately to be on their way.

Well this is shocking actually. Draco didn’t expect Potter to lie, because he knows there isn’t an urgent assignment - their comms are still linked and nothing has come through from headquarters. And being stopped in the middle of a street still pretty close to the facility in a nondescript white van is dangerous, even more so than either of their too-volatile natures would normally allow. Naturally, Potter then drives off the road and straight into the trees before switching off the car.

“Update headquarters, tell them we’re fine, but we’re getting off the grid until we resurface back in DC,” barks Potter

“Off the grid?” asks Draco, terrified. Off the grid means everything off. Off the grid means disposing of his laptop, his comms, his iPhone, his other iPhone, and shutting down their trackers. But Draco does what he’s asked because he’s never seen Potter so commanding, well so commanding directed at him before and Potter’s vitals are still peaking at high stress levels when he kills the laptop which can not be a good sign.

Potter throws open the back doors of the van.

“Draco,” says Potter, “Draco, we need to talk.”

“Harry,” says Draco.

Harry doesn’t tell him not to use his birth name, and when Harry’s shoulders finally relax, Draco feels his own tension dissipate too. God. When had Harry’s state bled into Draco’s state. _When?_

Draco doesn’t want to talk, he wants _to take_ so he steps out of the van and pushes Harry onto the grass. Harry, just lets him.

Harry, staring at him with clear green eyes, still shirtless, still very wet, and still a little bit angry just lets Draco push him onto the grass and straddle him. When Draco leans down to kiss him, well, compliant Harry evaporates and Draco is immediately pinned to the grass, _not gravel thank god_ , and his shirt is ripped off. Harry lowers his face until their noses are touching, and Draco swallows nervously, his earlier bravado fading in the face of a very commanding and a very experienced Harry Potter. _What’s next?_

Everything. Everything is next. Watching Harry fuck on a computer screen is nothing like experiencing it in real life. Draco feels consumed. Harry has fingers that coax him open and leave him trembling for more. Harry has lips that burn against Draco’s throat and sweep across his shoulder. Harry has a tongue that licks across everything, his chest, his teeth, his tongue. Harry has hands that wrap around Draco’s cock and stroke harder and harder. Harry has a thick and heavy cock that makes Draco quiver in anticipation when he feels it press against his hip.

And lastly, Harry has a voice that’s a bit shaky and betrays that this is maybe different from the honey-traps he’s known for setting, for being, because he asks if it’s okay.

“Can I...do you want to?” Harry is murmuring into Draco’s mouth, “we can wait until next time.”

Next time sounds good. But Draco also wants **now** so he says “Please.”

Draco thinks he’s going to be spun around and fucked from behind, like the blonde was during the last mission. But Harry surprises him and finds an angle that might work while they’re still face to face, almost chest to chest.

“I **love** how well you fit against me,” is what Harry says when he finally enters Draco carefully, taking his time to make sure Draco has time to adjust because fuck, Harry is _big_. Still, it’s too slow so Draco hisses “faster” into Harry’s ear and can actually feel Harry’s cock twitch inside him when he says it.

Still, Harry just says “take it easy” and doesn’t make any move to go any faster and it infuriates Draco, who really wants _now_. Draco presses down hard, almost all the way, and almost screams because it’s half pain and half pleasure but **loves** that it makes Harry gasp and groan out “god Draco you feel so good” that it makes it worth it.

This definitely isn’t Agent Black laying a honey-trap. It can’t be. Because every time Draco says _Harry_ , Harry thrusts harder and then tries to slow down. Until Draco finds a nice spot on Harry’s shoulder where he can bite down and it draws blood which almost seems to convey the message he wants to convey. _Don’t treat me like I’m fragile_.

“If you,” Draco starts to say but then gasps when Harry hits something that makes him see stars, “if you break me while fucking me I will suck you off every day for the rest of your life.”

Harry laughs, “you threw a chair at me while hiding under a desk because I broke your arm on accident 10 years ago, I think I need to be careful.”

Draco growls, “this is different, I want this.”

Harry meets his eyes, “you were asking for it back then too,” he says, but complies and finally, _finally_ start fucking Draco like he means it. It’s hard and fast and Draco is whining because it’s so good and everything he imagined it would be. Draco wishes he had enough energy so he could prop himself up and also watch what he can feel is a thick, heavy cock thrusting in and out of him, his ass clenching tightly around Harry. Harry is too good at the rhythm, and reading Draco’s body, and knowing what angles make Draco see more and more stars. Draco comes hard and clutches, scratches, at Harry’s back when he does. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, but then slows down the pace. Draco is baffled because has no idea what Harry likes and wants Harry _to lose control,_ not liking this now calm and measured pace.

But Draco knows how to find out because he’s Harry’s handler and knows how to experiment. Draco tangles his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulls his lips close to his ear so he knows Harry will hear.

“Harry,” says Draco, which only elicits a pleased sigh in response now.

“Harry Potter,” gasps Draco, which elicits a much deeper thrust that makes Draco's ass burn.

“Harry Potter,” gasps Draco and also tries to meet Harry’s thrusts deliberately, squeeze around his cock, and yank on Harry’s hair all at the same time.

Draco watched Harry fuck someone for an hour and knows that Harry knows how to get someone to come. He also knows Harry knows how to get himself to come. But he doesn’t want that. _He_ wants to make Harry come.

So Draco experiments and discovers that Harry does like it when Draco gasps out his full name.

Harry likes it even more when Draco throws his head back and bares his pale neck because Harry always groans and reaches to kiss his neck but because Draco’s so much shorter, if Draco bends back too far then Harry has to reach too far and bend too far down to kiss his neck, which causes Harry to lose the rhythm of his thrusts. And then when Harry’s cock _almost_ slips out, the head poised at the rim of Draco's ass, Draco pushes back as hard as he can on to Harry's cock, as deep as he can, and Harry _finally_ loses it with a few erratic thrusts.

Harry comes and Draco can feel the power behind it as Harry groans and shudders pulls Draco tight against him.

“You,” says Harry, “are amazing.”

“I know,” says Draco, smugly, “you’re welcome.”

Harry sprawls onto his back beside him.

“This was... highly... unprofessional,” sighs Harry, still panting.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been professional,” says Draco, “not since you pinned me down on the floor of your boss’s office and pressed a gun into my forehead.”

“Ah,” says Harry, “I forgot about that. Did that turn you on?”

Draco reaches over and tries to slap him but Harry, lethal killing machine that he is, catches his arm like it’s nothing.

“Don’t hit me,” says Harry, “I already let you bite me and scratch me.”

“Or what,” says Draco, “you’re going to twist it and break it like in high school?”

“Fuck,” says Harry rubbing his eyes, “this is extremely inappropriate.”

“Whatever,” says Draco, “nobody has to know.”

And then because Draco wants to make sure they’re doing this again, says “my place or your place next time because I am not fucking in a forest again like an animal.”

“Mine,” says Harry.


	2. Part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification – Draco is British and Harry is an American that attended the international boarding school in England that Draco also attended.

Draco loses count of which mission they’re on soon after they start fucking. Instead he’s inspired by the constant daytime re-runs of a show called _Friends_ and remembers them like –

The one with the steel door that Draco "lets" slam shut on Potter’s (great but still deserving of this) ass.

And –

The one with the electrocuting light switch that Draco "overlooks".

And –

The one with the underground bunker that almost gets entirely flooded when Draco "forgets" how to shut off the sprinkler system.

And –

The one with the grenade launcher that Potter finds hidden in floorboards and uses to blow up a mansion.

That’s right. Draco didn’t have anything to do with the grenade launcher but that moment was definitely the highlight of that mission. He doesn’t always _accidentally_ make mistakes during missions…only when he feels like it or when Potter really deserves it.

Like the time Potter pulls on Draco’s hair too hard when Draco’s sucking Potter off in the shower. Draco painfully lost like 50 strands of his silky blonde hair.

Or –

Like the time Potter goes on a radio-silenced team-based mission that Draco isn’t brought it on and therefore doesn’t learn about (because Potter apparently still keeps him on a need-to-know basis even though they’re sleeping together) until he runs into his agent a couple days later on B12 sporting a bullet-wound through his right calf and a broken elbow.

Which explains why Potter hadn’t texted him in a while (about a week) about their next hook up.

Not that Draco was worried or anything because it wasn’t like they were in an actual _relationship_. Potter set “boundaries” for their coworkers-with-benefits situation very early on.

“This can only ever be just sex, Draco, because of my work I don’t do relationships, so if that’s going to be a problem – ”

“What makes you think _I_ want a relationship Potter?”

“The fact that you loved parading all your celebrity _boyfriends_ around during high school and rubbing everyone’s nose in it.”

“That’s because my parents refused to believe I was gay!”

“Hitting the front page of the tabloids with the tongue of that skins actor down your throat didn’t do it for them?”

“Potter, you’d be surprised by what my parents and the rest of British nobility are experts at ignoring.”

“Just don’t broadcast this at work, _Draco_ , it’s not against regulations but I’d prefer to avoid the hoops M would make us jump through to check that we weren’t compromised.”

To be honest, Draco had been a little offended at the way Potter said compromised, as if it was absurd to even consider that Potter would ever compromise himself and his dedication to the CIA because of Draco (okay, that would be absurd).

“Don’t worry, _Harry_ , in what world would I want to admit to getting fucked by the guy who beat me up in high school and now seduces and sleeps with women as part of his job as a lethal assassin.”

At this Potter had closed his eyes and pinched his nose in a clear sign of exasperation.

“This is so inappropriate. Why are we even doing this if it’s that humiliating?”

Draco almost prefers the Potter on missions who obeys all of his directions without question rather than this Potter that’s almost as mouthy as he is.

Almost, because this Potter off-missions calls him Draco and Draco can call him Harry.

And the sex, _obviously_.

With this in mind, Draco slipped his hands under Potter’s shirt and then used it to tug Potter and his clenched jaw down so it would be close enough to lick so he could show him just why they were doing this.

“I said _admit to_ , not deny the fact that you’re probably the best lay I’ve had in years.”

This had made Potter loosen up and smile. As Draco had known it would.

“Just years? I’d say ever by the way you beg.”

“Shut up, you’re the one that said you loved me just by hearing my voice.”

“It wasn’t your voice, it was the way you handled my mission like a pro even though you were a complete novice.”

“Okay, but then you said you _had to have me_ the first time we saw each other in years.”

“ _As my handler_.”

“And then because you couldn’t even wait, you fucked me without a condom in the middle of a disgusting forest before we even finished the mission.”

Potter hadn’t had a quick response to that, but did eventually say. “You know I’ll kill you if you give me an STD.”

To which Draco answered, “You’re the one fucking other people all the time, I’ll kill _you_ if _you_ give me an STD.”

“Fine, we'll both use condoms with everyone else.”

So a conversation about not being in a “relationship” had somehow ended up as a semi-agreement to be in a coworkers-with-benefits non-relationship that involved fucking with no condoms? Yeah…no, Draco isn’t exactly sure what agreement they’d actually come to but decided between handling Potter’s increasingly complicated missions, going to the occasional meeting as an ambassador for his cover, watching American sitcoms, sabotaging the blind-dates his parents were still setting up for him even though Draco was in _America_ (instead of noble heiresses they were now daughter's of business conglomerates), and sleeping with Potter on a regular basis – there wasn’t really any time for Draco to meet anyone else to worry about using protection with.

And then Draco had been lifted clear off the ground in preparation of being fucked against the wall supported only by Potter and his hands... Yeah it was unlikely Draco would meet anyone that looked like as Potter did and was as good in bed. For some reason it was always the really attractive ones that found it acceptable to be lazy in bed.

He hadn’t been able to resist saying “don’t make me have to remind you over the comms to wrap your dick up the next time you honey-trap” as Potter was nudging the head of his cock against Draco’s entrance.

Potter probably didn't have time to meet anyone else either, outside of missions of course. Certainly no one as brilliant as Draco. Therefore, you know, they were probably semi-exclusive by convenience besides the whole sleeping with women as part of Potter’s job thing.

In line with their inability to clarify their situation, by some unspoken rule, they’d also fallen into an alternating pattern. Draco would text Potter around midnight. Then, Potter would show up at Draco’s flat. A couple days later, Potter would text Draco around midnight. Then, it would be Draco’s turn to show up at Potter’s flat. Which sounded like boundaries were being kept, except Potter had begun to stay the night, followed by cooking breakfast in the morning. Which Draco was dying to point out was very “relationship” like on Potter’s end (not that Draco  _wanted_ to be in a relationship with Potter) but didn’t because he didn’t want to disrupt the new routine that involved bacon, eggs, and coffee in bed.

This was also how Draco learned that he only handled about 50% of Potter’s missions. Potter was a workaholic. If he texted Potter and the man didn’t show up between 30-60 minutes (the average time it usually took Potter to haul ass to Draco’s), but responded with _how about now?_ a few hours, or even a day later, he knew Potter was out of town, probably on some other mission.

And even though Draco has watched enough TV by now to know this is all a recipe for disaster, and eventually the metaphorical shit was going to hit the metaphorical fan, he still can’t help himself from climbing into bed with Potter all the fucking time.

Plus, he could probably just blame everything on Potter.

** The one with the tiger in the east wing. **

Surprisingly it’s not this mission that causes the metaphorical shit to hit the metaphorical fan.

Draco’s sitting in a nondescript white van (yes really, again) a couple blocks away from a drug lord’s estate in the dead of night when Potter crackles over the shitty onsite comms (because B12 budgeting suits had been unable, _unwilling_ , to immediately replace the nice comms after the last sprinkler fiasco), to inform him that through the window, he’s seen two more goons heading over to the west wing of the building.

There’s no video throughout the mansion, so Draco had Potter attach enough outside cameras that detect heat signatures to get a pretty clear 360 view of all the people in the building. The plan was for Potter to get to one of two elevators that descend to the basement where their target was hiding out. One elevator was in the west wing, one elevator in the east wing.

The west wing was closer to where the target’s safe room was, but now with the cameras in place and with Harry’s prompting, it was clear the west wing also had about 8 heavily armed guards lingering about. The east wing surprisingly had only one person sleeping on what looked like a bed. Based on the risk of accidentally alerting their target during an altercation with a guard, the east wing was clearly the better option despite requiring deviation from a well-formed plan.

If it wasn’t summertime and Draco hadn’t been roasting in the stupid white van sweating his balls off (why did all nondescript white vans have zero circulation or standby air conditioning...), his brain might not have been working at a snail’s pace, so slow as to not question why the hell the guards had left that wing in a hurry, and why there wasn’t anyone in the entire east wing anymore besides a sleeping figure. Probably a mistress or a wife wanting privacy is what Draco stupidly assumed.

Draco tells Potter to head through the east wing and not expect any trouble. Their last couple of missions had gone with minimal unplanned glitches (Potter had recently been pricked by a mildly poisonous fish when Draco had directed him to reach into a tank to retrieve a key a secretary had thrown across the room, not telling him that the key actually wasn’t all that important). So when Potter steps into the room with the sleeping figure as Draco says “don’t wake her up” but then sees the figure _leap_ up with a long fucking tail coming into the heat-detecting camera’s view, well, this classified as an unplanned glitch.

“Malfoy, now’s a good time to explain why there’s a free roaming tiger circling me.”

"That explains the tail...my b. Any chance you can safely kill it?”

“All I have are knives because you said this would be a stealth job that didn’t require guns so I’m going to go with no.”

“How do you feel about aborting the mission entirely by jumping out the window?”

“I don’t want to abort. We're on a streak.”

“Any experience as an animal tamer? Snake charmer? Tiger whisperer?”

“Nope.”

“Fine, stay 6 meters away, that’s how far they can jump, and avoid all backhand swipes, those can crush your skull.”

Draco glances at Potter’s vitals and sees that he’s still as cool as a fucking cucumber.

“Remain calm, don’t make any sudden movements like running away or turning your back, make your presence bigger, and slowly make your way to the elevator.

“What if it attacks me?”

“ _I don’t know_. Kill it with your knives.”

“That’s really helpful.”

“Seriously Potter, _I don’t know_ , if it attacks you please be that one in a million that can kill a tiger with your bare hands.”

 ...

Wow are you _actually worried about me?_ I’ll be fine, I’m sure I'll be able injure it enough to slow it down before it can actually kill me.”

...

Thankfully, after 5 tense minutes of Potter cautiously making his way around the room with a tiger prowling about, he makes it to the elevator with no issues and the rest of the mission concludes smoothly. Unfortunately, some Agent Black fan that must have been among the crowd that usually tuned into their mission channels decides to report Draco as negligent.

So when they both return from Peru they’re called into M’s office.

“What’s this about M? The mission went great,” Potter says with a grin, sliding comfortably into one of the chairs.

Draco’s less comfortable, pinned by a critical look in M’s eye.

“I wouldn't classify a confrontation with a Tiger as _great_. And it’s been brought to my attention that Handler Malfoy may have started being negligent on your missions,” M states sternly.

Potter shakes his head, “not that I’ve noticed.”

Draco’s remembering his petty acts of revenge and isn’t sure if those count as negligent as opposed to willful but mild endangerment. He decides to cautiously shake his head too.

M places her hand over a thin stack of papers.

“In the couple of hours it took you to fly home, I took the liberty of asking some other handlers and agents to read over your mission logs and reports, these are their assessments. I also had some statistics done on your mission outcomes.”

Potter sits up a bit straighter, “they’re great aren’t they, I think we’ve only had two incomplete missions, and I haven’t been out of commission for longer than a week since we’ve started working together, except that one time I was shot but’s only because Malfoy wasn’t handling that mission.”

M looks amused, “yes, you have had a dramatic decrease in major injuries, especially bullet wounds, but on the flip side, there’s been a dramatic increase in minor injuries.”

“ _Really?_ ” asks Potter. Draco wants to pat him on the head. Draco knows he suspects Draco’s part in most of the more _interesting_ bumps that pop up (granted, not all of them are Draco – case in point, the tiger) but still chooses to entertain them with no issue so the naïve response almost plays as if he’s trying to protect Draco.

M nods, “in addition, there’s been a dramatic increase in excessively dangerous altercations as well.”

This Draco can defend himself on, “the missions themselves are dangerous, but can be done with more success and more efficiently if Potter places himself in those scenarios, the results speak for themselves.”

M peers at the reports, “yes it says your peers believe you express little to no hesitation in directing Agent Black straight into the line of fire slash almost certain death for the sake of efficiency but at the expense of concern over your agent’s life, and the fact that he obeys with little hesitation and no questions comes as a surprise to them.”

Potter says “Malfoy knows what he’s doing,” at the same time Draco says “Black knows what he’s doing.”

M sighs, “your peers are divided on whether the fact that he’s always able to extricate himself typically unscathed with your assistance is a testament to your partnership and Handler Malfoy’s understanding of his agent’s capabilities or simply luck of the draw that’s going to result in Agent Black’s untimely death. 

Draco and Potter share a look. 

Draco has no idea with Potter is saying with his look, but Draco knows what he's trying to convey.  _If killing you was that easy, you'd have died from the chemical bomb I rigged in your face back in high school_.

“I believe in the partnership assessment, however I can’t overlook that Malfoy did state he deliberately neglected to inform you of gunfire in order to see how fast you could dodge from your first unorthodox mission together. Therefore I’ve decided to send Handler Malfoy for a psychological assessment with a lie detector,” M says to Potter.

Potter protests immediately, citing the fact that Draco had been joking back then (except Draco hadn’t been joking) but Draco quickly agrees instead.

Clearly they didn’t know Draco’s father had bought a lie detector to practice on ever since Malfoy senior had been accused of underhanded business practices. That had actually been one of the few fond bonding experiences they’d had, with Draco reading the detector outputs and listening to his father figure out how to manipulate the questions and talk around them, giving non-answers in the place of actual answers. 

* * *

 After two and a half hours, the two psychologists and one lie detector tech aren’t even sure what answers they’ve been given, but do know that the blonde sitting across from them hasn’t lied once despite the less-than-sane responses he’d given.

“Again, have you ever been negligent in your handling of Agent Black.”

“Sure, if being negligent means sweating balls in a fucking 100 degree van and being so dehydrated that I didn’t think to double check whether the target had acquired a fucking tiger in the last 24 hours because some fudgy heat signature looked like a woman sleeping, then yes, I’ve been negligent.”

“That does not count as being negligent. Other than situations similar to that, have you ever been negligent in your handling of Agent Black?”

“Really? You think we’ve had situations similar to that? What do you think we do? Travel around the world breaking into places we aren’t supposed to, killing people that’ve already died, getting information that doesn’t exist? What are we, some black ops division within the CIA?”

The three professionals are all cleared with B12 access and are therefore aware of _exactly_ what they are and what they do. They look at him unamused.

“That is what you do,” says one finally, “please answer the question directly.”

“I have never been negligent in my handling of Agent Black without a rational reason,” states Draco, thinking of all the times he’d had a rational reason.

So what if other people would probably disagree that the reasons were rational.

Potter giving him decaf coffee one morning was a perfectly rational reason for why he'd been grumpy during a mission that involved Potter passing through a metal detector that Draco probably could have deactivated to allow for a small silencer with a little effort but didn’t so Potter had to rely on his hands to disarm his way through armed guards.

If anything, it meant Potter didn’t get involved in a direct shootout, didn’t get shot, and therefore contributed to the decreased amount of fatal injuries, specifically GSW's.

Plus, the time he didn’t tell Potter the key wasn’t that important before Potter reached into a tank of poisonous fish? Well, what if that key _was important?_ Draco got things wrong perhaps 1% of the time (again, like with the freaking tiger), so it was always better to retrieve anything that might be useful if possible.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how would much do you value Agent Black’s safety? 1 indicating you value it on the level of something like your favorite sweater, and 10 indicating you value it more than your own safety.”

Probably the stupidest question ever. Draco’s favorite sweater had been hand-knitted by his favorite grandmother who’d explicitly stated in her will that Draco was to inherit her country estate when she passed otherwise it should be burned to the ground and the land sold for a penny based on a lottery system if anyone else came to possess it before him.

Draco thinks he takes after her.

“0, because I don’t value Agent Black’s safety at all and my favorite sweater is at least a 9.5.”

They gape at him and look extremely concerned.

“Look, I can’t do my job if I’m concerned about his safety. I do however rank how much I value Agent Black’s life, or the ability to keep him _performing_ at a high level, a 9 but almost 10, right below my favorite sweater,” Draco elaborates truthfully. Again, not further explaining that Draco mostly highly valued Potter’s ability to keep _performing_ sexually because he _really_ enjoyed their midnight meet-ups. It certainly wasn’t because Draco really cared that much about completing CIA missions or believed in what they were doing beyond the fact that missions with Potter were fun and kept Draco away from the tediousness of home and eventual responsibility.

At least his devilish grandmother hadn’t written him to come home yet. It was always hard saying no to her.

He finishes the psychological assessment in a similar manner, and they don’t garner much beyond the fact that Malfoy cares about Potter as a whole, but not at all in the parts. They do agree that Malfoy as a Handler is more than capable and confident in his own abilities to successfully complete missions but not at the expense of Potter’s life (not safety). They express surprise when Malfoy slips up and admits his least favorite missions involve Potter and his honey-traps. They attempt to get him to elaborate but thankfully Malfoy’s response of “what gay man would enjoy watching heterosexual intercourse?” is enough.

Malfoy gets cleared.

** The one with no name because Draco isn’t part of the mission **

Draco gets a little closer to coming when he feels the heat start to rush to his toes and his muscles starting to clench in rhythm with Potter’s vigorous thrusts from on top of him. It’s one of his favorite positions because of the view, Potter’s hands braced on either side of his head, well above his head really. Draco’s nose almost brushes against Potter’s deliciously firm chest whenever Potter thrusts particularly deep, and there’s also a bright red flush creeping up across Potter’s collarbone and up to his neck. The body hovering above him is all fire and coiled muscle, so naturally, Draco decides to blow some cool air on the red nipple within his eye-line but doesn’t get a response. So he lifts his head off his pillow and bites down on the nipple, hard, which elicits a nice yelp. Potter twists his body away from Draco’s biting range and then looks down, shooting him a glare.

Which really isn’t that scary seeing as Potter hasn’t slowed down his pace and is still fucking Draco quite energetically for a man that had only started panting with exertion despite doing all the work during this hookup for the past 30 minutes. Damn Potter and his stamina.

“Really, Draco? You’re just going to lie there and then _bite_ me?”

“I’m exhausted and I got bored.”

“If you weren’t feeling up to it you didn’t have to show up when I texted you.”

“Well I didn’t know you were _this_ horny, how do you even have this much energy? You were running through the Amazon forests just hours ago.”

Potter, that bastard, looks smug.

“Usually you like it when we meet up when I’m still on a mission high.”

“Usually M doesn’t pull me into handling another mission right after I finish with yours.”

This slows Harry down.

“She _what_?”

Draco squirms a little, missing the friction now that it’s gone, and decides to finally actively participate a little more by lifting his previously motionless hands up from the mattress to grip Potter around the waist.

“Sorry, classified,” says Draco, even though it’s not classified. One handler had been hungover and he’d had to jump in for a couple hours of monotonous monitoring because of it. But Potter doesn’t know that.

Draco strokes Potter’s sides and tries to guide him back into what he’d been doing before, hoping that Potter wasn’t going to make him beg. Thankfully Potter seems just as eager to resume.

“Your cock doesn’t seem bored,” says Potter, now bracing himself with just his left hand in order to wrap his right hand around Draco’s now fully hard member. Draco quivers as Potter starts with gentle strokes that rapidly turn into rough tugs. 

“Only because I started fantasizing about McSteamy, he just started sleeping with Lexie” lies Draco, but then immediately regrets it when Potter’s hand leaves his cock. Potter tilts Draco’s chin up until they’re making eye contact.

“The actor? No you didn’t,” states Potter confidently before kissing him roughly. Draco bites Potter’s lower lip until he draws blood.

“You don’t ever…god…fantasize…when we’re doing this?” asks Draco as Potter mercifully returns his hand to its previously activity of getting Draco off, sliding up and down his cock. How Potter was able to _always_ get Draco turned on and wanting more no matter Draco’s original mood was beyond comprehension.

“With you? No,” Potter murmurs into his ear. “Although I was enjoying the fact that you weren’t mauling me tonight until you bit me, so I guess I’ll have to catch you at another time you’re _exhausted_ if I ever want to escape unscathed.”

Draco uses his right hand to scratch his unclipped nails down Potter’s back and is rewarded with a **“SHIT**  that tickles.”

“You…like it,” gasps Draco as Potter’s wicked hands and equally talented thrusting have him on the cusp of coming. _How in the hell had Potter not come yet?_

“Only god knows why,” murmurs Potter in response, not bothering to deny it.

And then they’re rudely interrupted by a chime from the black CIA-issue sat phone lying on Potter’s dresser. 

“ **DO NOT ANSWER THAT** ,” grits Draco. He’s so close. So close.

The hand on Draco’s cock stills.

“It might be an emergency,” says Potter in his controlled agent voice.

Fuck.

“That can’t wait one minute for you to finish what you started?” argues Draco, gripping Potter’s waist tightly.

Potter pulls out of Draco and slides off the bed in one fluid motion.

“Don’t you _dare_ leave me like this, you’re the one that texted me, come on” begs Draco.

Potter answers the phone while Draco’s still flat on his back on Potter’s bed, red-flushed cock cold in the air, orgasm slipping quickly away.

“Okay, ETA 20 minutes,” states Potter in a clipped tone into the phone. Draco glances at his own silent phone on the floor that had fallen out his back pocket when Potter had stripped his pants off him. So, Potter was going on a mission without him.

Potter leans down and gives Draco a what, _an apologetic kiss on his forehead_? Disgusting. Potter should have been kissing something else.

“Emergency,” says Potter, gathering up his scattered clothing from the floor, “you can stay if you want.” 

“It’s always an emergency,” grumbles Draco, propping himself up on Potter’s bed to at least enjoy the view of Potter attempting to tuck in his massive hard-on into his tight black agent pants, “if I stay, will you be back soon enough to finish this?”

“That’s classified,” says Potter, but shrinks a bit at Draco’s unimpressed glare, “it’s domestic but will take at least a couple hours, so no, I won’t, and that’s all I can say.”

Draco sniffs. “Fine, I’ll go knocking on your hot neighbor’s door to help me out then.”

Potter laughs, “my neighbor is a 73-year-old man.”

“Fine, I’ll go knocking on my hot neighbor’s door.”

Potter gives him a look, “your admittedly hot neighbor is newly-wed… to a _woman_.”

“I’m sure they’d appreciate having me in a threesome.”

Potter doesn’t even pause on his way out of his apartment, “if you pull that off Draco I’d love to hear about it.”

Draco fumes for about a minute, tries to finish himself off, begins to fantasize about the man that had just left him without a backwards glance, but instead gets extremely pissed off that the man couldn’t even spare one minute, fails to come, and then storms out of the man’s flat about an hour later.

There’s no news from Potter the next day, or the day after that until –

** The one with no name not because Draco isn’t part of the mission because he gets “pulled in” but because he doesn’t want to name it (or, The one with the break up). **

Draco’s a little worried because Potter did say that the classified in-the-middle-of-the-night emergency mission would only take a couple hours, well, actually Potter said “at least” but that definitely didn’t mean a couple days. And since Draco had texted Potter last night about finishing where they'd left off, with no answer, that meant Potter was either on the same mission or had been sent on another one without Draco.

Either situation couldn’t be anything good. So it’s only a little bit of a surprise when Handler Granger intercepts him on his way to his desk on B12 in the morning looking harried and pulls him over to the way-in-the-back, black-windowed corner offices that Draco had been told were “off limits except for senior staff and poking around would lead to termination.” Termination implying either getting fired or killed, and since that wasn’t elaborated on – Draco knew it wasn’t something he ever wanted to find out despite the itch he had to hack into those off limit servers.

It is, however, a complete surprise when Handler Granger pushes him into an off limits office and hands him a comm headset and points to a screen of Potter getting and _enjoying_ a blow job from an Asian woman that Draco had never seen before.

 **What the fuck?** Potter had the gall to have sex when Draco had deigned to worry about him? When Draco hadn't been able to get off even once in the past couple of days?

“Sorry about pulling you into this without much explanation, but I have to monitor Red’s escape and there’s no one else qualified that can handle Black right now. All you need to know is Black and Red were on a deeply undercover mission a couple days ago that went sideways and led to their capture. Chang stuck her neck out to rescue them but Black and Red got separated in the scuffle. When they finish...that... guide Black to the extraction point, he’s in a hotel about 2 miles out – the path is all set up but you can make any changes you see fit, I think some roadblocks have gone up. Chang probably has a handler in her ear too so these comms are set up to be completely secure, one-way, un-recorded, and un-logged on all fronts so they can’t intercept or pick up on our communications.”

A quick recap that’s informative but does nothing to explain why this _Chang_ had Potter’s dick down her throat. Potter’s usual seductions had never involved him receiving oral.

“Chang?” asks Draco trying to keep the hysteria from his voice and wondering why this was causing him to feel hysterical.

It was just a blow job after all, goddammit.

“She hasn’t popped up in any of your missions yet?” asks Handler Granger, who looks surprised when Draco shakes his head no.

“Oh, well she’s a British agent that usually makes a big entrance whenever she can if Black is involved. They did a couple missions together a few years ago and formed a connection. I think they almost started up a relationship, but things got dicey between our agencies for a bit and Black got concerned she might compromise his work for the CIA so he ended it. Black hasn’t said anything to us about restarting things with her ever since our agencies got back on good terms, but we think she’s still very much in love with him. She’s always been extremely helpful, case in point helping them escape this time around, so Black humors her whenever she tries to seduce him back into what they used to have,” Handler Granger wrinkles her nose at the screen of them two, “ _it’s bizarre the pull he has on women_.”

 _Not just women_ , Draco wants to say, considering the possessiveness he suddenly feels towards his agent. He takes the headset and gives Handler Granger a tight nod before slipping it on, and she leaves the office in a rush so now it’s just him watching a very large screen of Potter getting it on with his ex-girlfriend.

And now he can hear Potter moaning with _real pleasure_ , because this Chang obviously knows how Potter likes to get sucked, and Draco recognizes the noises Potter makes when Draco does similar things.

Something that feels an awful lot like jealousy and disappointment starts to curl in his stomach.

To be fair, Potter had made it extremely clear that they weren’t in a “relationship.” That Potter would be sleeping with other women for his job all the time.

 _But not like this_ , Draco can’t help but think, _I didn’t know he had life-saving British ex-girlfriends in love with him_.

Draco sees red when Potter comes in Chang’s mouth with a groan but doesn’t say anything because it’s not like Potter is cheating on him, they weren’t in a relationship after all. But then when Potter’s getting straddled on the bed instead of taking charge and fucking the woman from behind like Potter usually does on missions, and there’s _no attempt to locate a condom_ even though this was a boundary they’d discussed –

Draco viciously makes his presence known by sneering “ _I’m going to set off the hotel sprinklers if you_ **don’t wrap your dick up** ,” loudly over the comms, relishing that he could finally say whatever he wanted to without repercussions since these comms weren’t recorded and couldn’t be eavesdropped on.

On the screen Potter’s body freezes and his eyes fly open. Draco watches with smug satisfaction as Chang gets pushed off and on to the floor.

“What the –”

“Jesus, Harry, what’s wrong?”

_This woman knew his agent’s first name?_

“Yeah, _Harry_ , what’s wrong?” goads Draco.

Potter’s hand flies to his ear to readjust his earpiece.

“Shit, Cho, it’s just – my handler has some news for me, I’m just going to step out for a second to discuss.”

The woman, called _Cho Chang_ frowns and gestures toward the clock on the side-table.

“My extraction is in less than 20 minutes, and I fully plan on collecting _my reward from you_ ,” she says in a low velvety tone.

Draco didn’t know it was possible to hate someone even more than pure unadulterated hate.

“Is that supposed to be sexy? Is this what you’re into?” Draco says snidely.

“Won’t be a minute Cho, and then I definitely plan on _thanking you appropriately_ ,” Potter says in an equally low velvety tone.

Draco ignores the twitch in his pants in favor of making gagging noises over the comms.

Potter ducks out from the room into the hallway that’s luckily empty.

“ _Draco?_ Where’s Hermione? Is it Ron? Is he okay?” Harry asks in a whisper. Draco notes Potter is careful to avoid the hotel cameras so they can’t capture his face and read his lips. Always a professional.

“Granger gave me your comms so she could direct Weasley to his extraction point since you’re wasting time with this bimbo.”

“Don’t call her that, she just helped me and Ron escape and she’s an important ally that I need to remain on good terms with.”

“You mean she’s your ex-girlfriend that you sleep with on a regular basis, yeah, Granger told me, and obviously I don’t care if you’ve been sneaking around with her, but if you’ve been having unprotected sex without telling me then – ”

“I’m on mission Draco, this is not the time to have this conversation.”

“Right, you don’t have _one minute_ to finish with me, but you do have all the time in the world to _thank her appropriately_ even though you should be getting to your extraction point instead of entertaining her until it’s time for hers.”

“ **God you drive me crazy**. _I’m sorry_ protection slipped my mind. I’m flooded with adrenaline right now. I swear haven’t seen or thought of her in months, but the last thing I need is to add her to my long list of enemies. So can we please not have this discussion right now?”

“Fine,” Draco spits out as Potter heads back into the hotel room before waiting for Draco’s response.

To his credit, Draco remains silent for all the kissing and foreplay, and tries to stamp out the rising amounts of anger because it certainly feels like Potter is cheating on him. Potter apparently, was an expert at compartmentalizing his feelings. Draco remembers Potter’s parting words a couple days ago, “if you pull that off Draco I’d love to hear about it” in response to Draco insinuating he wanted to be involved in a threesome. So maybe Potter didn’t have feelings for Chang, but he definitely didn’t have feelings for Draco.

Draco had thought he could compartmentalize just as well, but was rapidly realizing that his typical indifference to Potter sleeping with women he didn’t know the names of and didn’t have history with was nothing compared to the full blown jealousy he was experiencing now in response to Potter in bed with an ex-girlfriend. Even if Potter did just slip on a condom with Chang in “consideration” for Draco.

At some point in the past few months Draco had apparently developed inexplicable but genuine, still un-identifiable but definitely present _feelings_ for Harry Potter. Was it the life or death missions they did together? The phenomenal sex? The breakfast in bed? The banter? All of the above?

What a fucking disaster.

So is it really Draco’s fault when he realizes he can say whatever the fuck he wants over these secure comms and decides he needs to disrupt the domestic bliss unfolding in front of him?

“If you’re sorry you should make it up to me,” says Draco in an innocent tone. There’s no indication that Potter has heard him, but Draco knows he did. These comms are crystal clear.

“It’s _hard_ to watch and listen to you fuck without remembering how it feels to have you inside me.”

Potter grunts right after Draco speaks.

A good sign.

“What do you think makes _you_ harder? Fucking her and hearing her moan? Or imagining me touching myself to the sound of your voice and listening me moan?”

Draco moans slightly for good measure.

Potter swears under his breath, but Draco’s comms pick up on it.

“You know what would really get me off? If you fucked her in the ass and then angled your glasses so your camera could let me watch your cock go in and out. I bet if I fucked myself with my fingers at the same time, in the same rhythm, it’d be so hot _. Harry, please do it, wouldn’t that be hot?_ ”

There’s obviously _no way_ Potter would disrespect this woman for Draco’s pleasure. Potter who demanded Hermione and Draco not let anyone linger at their stations when he seduced women, and barely talked about his conquests to at least preserve some of their dignity even if they weren’t aware of it. Especially since Potter had a romantic history with this woman. Which Draco considered very hypocritical. If Potter really was a good person, he wouldn’t resort to honey-trapping them and manipulating them with sex in the first place.

Draco doesn’t really like “good people” so it’s just as well that Potter is a hypocrite.

Still, Potter never indicated he’d be into any of the very morally corrupt things Draco found fascinating. If anything, Draco could just get a thrill from finally being able to voice all his dirty thoughts to Potter over the comms instead of keeping them to himself.

Draco expects Harry to cringe in distaste, and is therefore _shocked to the maximum_ when Harry’s index finger slides into Chang’s other entrance and asks “what do you think about trying something new?”

This shuts Draco up immediately, and he watches open mouthed and breathless as Chang eagerly agrees and Potter stretches her out before switching holes.

 _Holy mother of god_.

Draco’s stomach drops and his body burns with anticipation as Potter legitimately gives Draco the view he’d asked for. Draco scrambles in his chair to position his fingers appropriately, praying that Granger is _very busy_ with Weasley, actually doing her job correctly unlike Draco, because no amount of fear over getting caught was going to stop him from enjoying this.

Soon Draco’s whimpering and moaning as quietly as he can, stretching himself and fucking himself on his own fingers, very unsure of how soundproof this office was. Potter on the other hand, is clearly struggling in his attempt to juggle between angling his glasses for Draco and holding down the very-into-anal Chang that’s yowling with pleasure. The realization that Draco really has no reason to be jealous of Chang, if Potter would user her like this, and that Draco has some hold over Potter (perhaps Potter liked Draco more than he’d thought) soon has him coming in his thankfully thick, dark-wash jeans. Potter appears to be directly affected by the sound of Draco coming through the comms and immediately slumps over Chang with a stutter of “Dra-oh fuck, **Cho**.” Chang doesn’t catch the almost-slip and just looks especially pleased with herself when Potter pulls out and discards the condom. Draco, of course, catches the first syllable of his name with relish.

“Well Harry, that was… amazing, let’s definitely do that again,” she purrs out, “and right on time for my extraction.”

Harry grunts with a darkening expression that Draco can’t quite place.

“Oh babe, I’d love to stay for round 2 but I really must be getting back,” Chang says brightly, pulling on her clothes and leaving the room in a matter of seconds. But not before dropping a quick kiss on Potter’s lips.

Apparently the expression has nothing to do with Chang, and everything to do with Draco.

“ **What the hell Draco** , _you can’t fucking do that_ ,” Harry seethes as he pulls on his clothes.

“Do what?”

“Don’t _what_ me, you know what, I can’t believe I did that to her, that was _wrong on so many levels_.”

“Are you serious? I was just talking dirty to you, I didn’t even expect you to _actually do it,_ and don’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy it.”

“ _I always do what you say no matter how batshit insane it is_ , I always listen to you on missions, you _know that_.”

“That was clearly not a mission order, you’re not stupid, you wanted to just as much as I did. You do not get to blame me for this. **That was all you Potter.** I’m sick of you pretending to be _such a good person_ when you kill people on a regular basis.”

Potter’s making his way down to the first floor of the hotel, and ding of the elevator indicates he’s almost at street level.

“Extractions 2 miles away, there’s road-blocks up now so you’ll have to take back alleys. There’s a tourist stand right around the corner if you take a right so grab a hat to hide your face,” states Draco succinctly, “that’s what a mission order sounds like Potter, in case you forgot.”

Potter makes a right when he leaves the hotel and pockets a hat as he passes the stand.

“What we did back there, to Cho, that’s **not me** ,” says Potter heatedly as he puts the hat on.

“You did it, in fact you wanted it, so it **is you** ,” replies Draco snidely, “500 feet until an alley way, take it down the block and then make a left onto the main street, but make the first right you can into the next alley.”

“I would never have even considered something like that before, but you, god, I don’t know, ever since we started - ”

“ _You do not get to blame me for this_ ,” seethes Draco again, “and you missed the fucking right turn, turn around and get into that fucking alley before they see you.”

“ **FINE**. It’s me, I’ve changed, you’ve _morally corrupted_ me. We need to talk more about setting more boundaries because I can’t, I won’t do anything like that ever again,” states Potter firmly, ducking into the correct alley.

“No,” states Draco, “I’m tired of all your stupid boundaries and how you _don’t do relationships_ , **STOP,** go back the way you came, they just set up another patrol right around the corner.”

“What? You said _you didn’t want a relationship either_ , damn...there’s a patrol just across the street too.”

“Well I just fucking changed my mind because apparently _I do want a relationship with you_ , **Jesus Fucking Christ,** why are all these people hunting you? What the fuck kind of undercover mission are you on that involves this many NYC patrols trying to catch you, you’re in the CIA, you’re on their side, oh god someone saw you, there’s a helicopter flying towards where you are.”

“Draco, there’s no way you want an actual relationship with me, I live in breathless expectation of what creative way you’re going to maim me before each mission…Crap, do you think I’m going to have to knock out one of these patrols chasing me without killing any of them?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m **morally corrupt** so will lead you astray by telling you who the fuck cares, murder them all, and don’t tell me what I want, y _ou don’t know what I want_.”

Draco watches as Potter disarms three pathetically overweight, but still upstanding American cops without really injuring them beyond quick just-enough-to-disorient punches.

“You know, I really hadn’t expected you to go all clingy on me,” Potter says with a small laugh, which normally Draco would have laughed at too.

It was their M.O. after all, to insult and blame each other one second, but then joke the next, all in the face of imminent danger.

But something about the way Potter had called Draco morally corrupt, which Draco usually enjoyed coming from other people, but not from Potter, because shit, he really had developed feelings for Harry fucking Potter and it actually hurt when he’d accused Draco of morally corrupting him. And for Potter to brush off the fact that Draco had confessed to wanting a relationship with him as _unexpectedly clingy_ and then laughed? Well, that really told him everything he needed to know didn’t it?

And dammit, Potter was right, Draco was being clingy and annoying, or at least encroaching on it.

Well, that was going to stop, immediately.

“Your extraction is just up ahead Potter, feel free to avoid using **morally corrupt** methods to get through the seven or so cops in your way.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, Draco, can we just talk about this in person when, I’m not…trying to…get out of New York…without killing these innocent people?”

Potter carefully makes his way past the seven or so cops non-lethally and reaches his extraction point just before the helicopter’s bright light is able to locate which white nondescript van he’d disappeared into.

Draco hears Potter sigh in relief. “That was a close one, even for us. Our work can’t be compromised like that again, we need to talk about this when I get back.”

Chang had apparently been dumped in the name of Potter remaining _uncompromised_ so if Potter already felt that Draco was morally corrupting him, and compromising his work, well Draco had a good idea how that conversation was going to.

“Don’t worry about it Agent Black, let’s keep all our interactions strictly professional from here on out,” says Draco in his most professional voice.

“Draco, that’s not what I want, look, can we just talk about this when I get back.”

“I know what you want. Uncomplicated, no-strings, easy sex kept completely separate from work.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you just going to completely ignore the fact that I said I wanted a relationship with you?” asks Draco incredulously.

“You were serious about that? What do you possibly like about me beyond sex? You used to hate everything about me,” states Potter, “you barely even agreed to work with me.”

Used to, but not anymore – is what Draco wants to say. Because he likes a lot about Harry now. Too much. Draco had lied when Potter had brought up the fact that Draco paraded his celebrity boyfriends around back in high school. Repeatedly coming out to his parents had only been part of it, the other part had been the fact that Draco typically fell hard and fell fast. He’d fancied himself in love multiple times until he realized they didn’t feel the same way back, and then continued to pine desperately until someone else swept him off his feet and the cycle repeated until Draco had gotten a little older, and a little wiser, and learned how to avoid falling for anyone since.

Instead, men fell for him.

Obviously all of that had gone out of the window the moment Potter had stormed back into his life in one dangerous, exciting, sexy, escape-from-reality total package. And it had taken one ill-timed mission involving an ex-girlfriend to jar Draco back to reality and realize that Potter didn’t really know Draco at all beyond the dirty sex and clever quips they traded on missions.

And Draco didn’t really know Potter at all either but had gone and fallen for him anyway. It was like the floodgate of ignored and repressed emotions had been released and the thought of sleeping with Potter and then seeing him in bed with someone else, _anyone else_ , the next day was making him sick. 

“You’re right,” concedes Draco, “but I think I’m developing a problem with you fucking other people.”

“They don’t mean anything,” protests Potter.

“I know,” says Draco but thinks – _I probably don’t mean anything either_ , “but it’s still my problem so unless you want my problem to really interfere with our work we should end our extra-curricular activities now.”

“Can we at least talk about this in person?” asks Potter.

Draco has a feeling he’d cave the moment Potter was in front of him, within arm’s reach and get lulled into agreeing to another non-exclusive relationship.

“Look Potter, do you want to be in an exclusive relationship with me or not?”

“You know I can’t physically do exclusive relationships, my job doesn’t let me, and I don’t know why you’d even want one.”

“Are you seriously going to make me spell it out for you? Because I _like_ you, and I got _jealous_ today, and unless you really want to experience what I’m like _clingy_ and _destructive_ we should only interact in a professional capacity.”

Potter doesn’t have a response to that, and even though Draco hadn’t expected him to, disappointment still floods through him from head to toe.

“Agent Black, you’re a 4-hour drive until you’re back in DC, remember to debrief with M and Handler Granger on the details of your mission the moment you get back,” says Draco finally.

* * *

Even though Draco was involved in Potter’s extraction, he’s still not fully read in. It must be something big though, because M tells him Black’s off solo missions with Malfoy as his handler for at least the next month due to some more undercover work, and that Draco should solidify his cover as an English Ambassador by going to more meetings and making himself more accessible to other diplomats in the meantime.

M also checks in with him about the status of his commitment to his job.

“Agent Black notified me your position here might be unfair to you, considering your British nationality, and that he wanted to let you know that he understands if you’d prefer to leave B12.”

“Black doesn’t want to work with me anymore?”

M gives Draco a serious look before saying, “he made sure to tell me to tell you that he thinks you’re the best and really hopes you’ll continue to be his handler.”

Draco smiles ruefully at this. Of course Potter would prioritize their work partnership.

M makes her distaste known, “I really hope you two don’t use me to pass middle-school notes like this ever again.”

“You’re the one that always humors him, M,” Draco responds dryly.  

M gives him a baleful look, “well?”

“I don’t plan on leaving B12, and I’ll continue to be his handler,” answers Draco after a moment.

* * *

The problem had been that Draco had let his world revolve around Potter, whether it was the next mission or their next midnight rendezvous. So taking a note from his past, the first thing was to find someone else to sweep him off his feet because pining after anyone was better than pining after Potter at this point.

But only after Draco quenched his thirst for payback.

Which involved breaking into Potter’s flat to rig his microwave to short circuit and catch on fire the next time it was used. Not exactly the exploding chemical bomb he really wanted to set, but innocuous enough that Potter would have to think twice about whether the microwave was just old or whether Draco had been responsible for it.

Draco’s imagining whether Potter will get at least a first degree burn during a boring political dinner party halfway through his mission-less month when his thoughts are interrupted by a low voice.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Draco glances up and meets the blue eyes of a tall (not as tall as Potter), built (not as well-defined as Potter), blonde-haired very all-American and generically good-looking (not nearly as hot as Potter) individual with an almost charming smile.

Draco gives a soft-smile back because really, it was not the time to be thinking about Potter if he was about to get hit on by an almost ideal rebound.

“I’m much too expensive for you,” Draco flirts and receives a blinding smile (really, those were very very pearly white teeth) in return.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” the man says confidently, holding his hand for Draco to shake, “Edward Rockefeller.”

“Draco –” Draco begins to say, pleased to have the attention of a _Rockefeller_ , but hears the man says “Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, oh I know who you are.”

“Really? Nothing bad I hope,” Draco replies with a smirk, but adds “well, nothing too bad.”

Edward Rockefeller shakes his head good-naturedly, “our parents tried to set you up with my little sister when you first came to the states, your parents said you’d grown out of your experimentation phase.”

Clearly the British tabloids on his youthful indiscretions with various men had made the rounds in America as well. Draco lets out a sharp laugh at the fact his parents were still succeeding in fooling themselves about his sexuality.

“My sister was disappointed to hear you were too busy, but perhaps it was for an entirely different reason?”

Ah, Draco _was definitely_  being hit on.

“I don’t think I’d heard of a Rockefeller being gay.”

“Bisexual, actually, not hiding it anymore, especially since it’s all the rage in America to come out now, and I’m running for office next term.”

Political blood ran strongly through this one. Not that Draco minded. In fact, if Draco’s parents were ever going to accept him having a relationship with a man, there wasn’t anyone better than a fucking real life _Rockefeller_ , an American industrial, political, and banking powerhouse. They might not have the title of nobility like the Malfoy’s, but they were essentially American royalty.

Forget acceptance, his parents would probably start planning the goddamn wedding. Draco didn’t pay much attention to his father’s business expansion to America, but did remember the horrific row they’d had over the phone when he’d refused to meet a... who was it, _Emily_ , a girl his father had said could cement their business foothold instantly if Draco considered dating her.

“Just to be clear, are you asking me to help you come out just to score some political points in your next election?”

Edward gives him sweeping look from head to toe.

“That’s definitely not the _only_ reason.”

“One moment,” says Draco as he pretends to check his phone for messages but actually quickly googles the man, hacks into his cell phone records, emails, social media, dating profiles, and does a background check for criminal activity, sealed juvenile records, and looks for indications of covered-up or resolved complaints concerning rape.

Clean as a whistle.

Edward Rockefeller, Draco learns, has an ambitious streak a mile wild, enjoys consistent but casual sex with men and women but isn’t currently in an exclusive relationship, is the favorite son of the Rockefeller family, and is poised to be one of the youngest senators in history. And he’d googled Draco Malfoy about a year ago, and then promptly texted his sister Emily the following message:

**Draco Malfoy is so fucking beautiful, when you meet him please check and see if he's still into men?**

Edward Rockefeller owned up to his machinations  _and_ was attracted to Draco _and_ was willing to be public about it unlike Potter. So what if Draco didn’t immediately feel attracted to the classic blue-eyed blonde-haired look? Objectively Edward was just as attractive as Potter, just in a completely un-unique, different (boring, so boring), sort of way. Throw in the fact that that Draco had originally come to America to escape the tedium of his parent’s attempts to marry him off to a British heiress and not to work as a handler and pine after Harry Potter, well, what more could he really ask for? Because let’s be honest, Draco was more than able to manipulate men on a whim (men that weren’t Harry Potter...) and if Draco wanted to date Edward to finally get his parents out of his business, then Edward wouldn’t know what hit him.

Unfortunately, a couple hours later Edward is sleeping in Draco’s bed while Draco is in the shower cleaning Rockefeller cum from out his ass. And pondering how the sex could possibly have been so boring for Draco, but so great for Edward that he hadn’t even noticed Draco had only been half-hard the entire time, had almost fallen asleep, and had groaned _fucking finally_ when he had finally finished.

Draco has zero desire to sleep with him again and leaves the shower with the intent on kicking him out of his bed, his flat and out of his life immediately. Not at all the hot and dirty rebound that was going to purge Harry Potter from his thoughts

And is greeted by the sight of moonlight flooding his bedroom, illuminating one pissed-off Harry Potter holding a pistol to Edward’s sleeping face.

“Explain this,” Potter hisses quietly at Draco, gun leveled an inch away from Edward’s temple.

“Are you _crazy_? You can’t shoot him in my flat, everyone knows he’s here, _I’ll get arrested_ ,” Draco whispers urgently, realizing too late he hadn’t even been concerned about the man’s life.

Oops.

“Why does _everyone_ know he’s here?”

“Because that’s _Edward fucking_ _Rockefeller_ , as in the billionaire Rockefeller family, and everyone saw him leave the party with me.”

Potter’s gun disappears in milliseconds as he turns to face Draco with a displeased expression.

“Why is he in your bed?”

“Why do you think he’s in my bed?”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“No, he’s not my boyfriend Potter, Jesus, you of all people should know just because people sleep together doesn’t mean they’re in a relationship.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean. Why do you even care?”

“I’m not even allowed to ask about your private life anymore, _Draco_?”

“It’s not about what you’re allowed to do, it’s why you’re even asking, _Harry_.”

Draco can see Potter’s shoulders tense slightly in the moonlight, “kick him out we need to talk.”

It had only been what, 3 weeks since their last disastrous conversation when Potter had made it clear he wasn’t interested in Draco beyond sex and work as mutually exclusive acts. Except Potter had just broken in to Draco’s flat, leveled a gun at Draco’s one-night-stand, and was now ordering Draco around. _That_ sounded a lot like the crazy shit Draco was prone to do, and not at all the level-headed Agent that Draco knew Harry Potter was.

“ _Are you on drugs_?” whispers Draco.

“What? **No** ,” whispers Potter.

“Are you actually Harry Potter?” whispers Draco, “you’re an imposter aren’t you?”

“Are _you_ on drugs?” whispers Potter.

“I’m not the one doing crazy things,” whispers Draco, “clearly I’m not the one on drugs.”

Potter opens his mouth to say something except Draco sees Edward’s eyes fluttering open. Draco leaps and tackles Potter to the floor and shoves the stunned man towards the space under the bed, ignoring his hiss of pain.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Edward asks him sleepily, peering down at Draco lying on the floor with hazy blue eyes. Potter doesn’t say anything but continues to glare at him with clear, furious, green eyes from under the bed.

If Draco had a death wish, he’d climb on top of Edward, straddle him, and proceed to go for round two just to make Potter experience what it feels like to listen in on someone else having sex for a change. In the end, it’s the prospect of having to pretend that Edward can actually get him to come and the fact that he’d have to endure another episode of drop-dead-boring sex that leads him to decide against this course of action.

“I fell, trying to get my glasses,” answers Draco as he gets up from the floor, brushing the non-existent dust from his thighs.

“You wear glasses?” asks Edward groggily.

“No,” answers Draco picking up Edward's clothes from the floor and throwing them on the confused looking billionaire-to-be.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Draco and because he can’t decide how else to kick Edward out of his apartment, says “also my ex-fuck buddy broke in to my apartment just now and I just shoved him under the bed.”

“Uh...What?”mumbles Edward.

Potter decides it’s time to make his presence known and gets out from under the bed.

“Yeah, sorry, didn’t know you were here,” says Potter.

Edward takes a long look at Potter as Potter stands up to his full height, and Draco sees different reactions flicker across Edward’s face as he takes in the imposing figure, who just so happens to be holding, no, _spinning_ , a gun, glinting in the moonlight, casually in his right hand.

Anger is swiftly replaced by fear, and the man hastily pulls on his clothes.

“I’ll just, uh, leave now, Draco, uh call me when you get this all sorted out.”

Edward pauses on his way out the door and shoots an uncertain glance at Draco’s lips.

Oh yes, please do, Draco really wants to see if Potter would react if Edward to kisses him goodbye. Unfortunately, Edward doesn’t, and just races out the bedroom and out of Draco’s flat.

Potter’s rubbing the back of his head glumly, “Really Draco? You just had to knock me to the floor and push me under the bed even though you were going to tell him I was here anyways?”

“You know I wouldn’t miss a chance to knock you on your head,” answers Draco, flipping on the light switch.

And now Draco sees that Potter’s shirt is rapidly staining with bright red blood.

“ _Why are you bleeding?_ ”

Potter looks down. “Shit, you don’t have any bandages do you?” And peels off the bloody shirt to reveal a chest littered with fresh wounds, all slashes as if from a blade, with a few bandaged up.

“No I don’t, _what are those from_?”

“Towels?”

Draco grabs some fresh hand towels from his linen closet but holds them aloft, “not until you tell me how you got those.”

Potter humors him because he could probably have just grabbed the towels himself faster than Draco could blink.

“Just finished the undercover mission, a few weeks early too, but got into an epic tussle with gang enforcer that caught me off guard.”

“And this is you winning?”

Potter grins at him and presses one of the offered towels to stop one of the larger cuts from bleeding onto Draco’s floor.

“You should see the other guy.”

“I highly doubt I would enjoy that.”

“I missed this,” says Potter.

Draco narrows his eyes, “missed what?”

“This,” says Potter motioning between them, “you, I missed you, and I was worried the entire time I was undercover that I was going to finish and then come back to see you’d left.”

“You’re the one that told M you would understand if I left,” sniffs Draco.

“I said I’d understand, not that I wasn’t scared you were actually going to leave.”

“I told M I’m staying with B12 and as your handler, did she not tell you when you debriefed?”

“She did,” says Potter, “but I wanted to see you anyways, I think we need to talk.”

“Potter,” says Draco, “I think we talked it out weeks ago, there’s nothing left to talk about.”

“I think the fact that you opened my wounds by tackling me and I’m bleeding quite profusely because of it, has earned me a conversation,” says Potter.

Draco considers this, and the fact that Potter had a _very_ interesting reaction to another man in his bed, and decides perhaps there is something to talk about.

“Fine, what is it that we _need_ to talk about.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” says Potter in a rush, “I was careless with my words, and blamed you for things that weren’t entirely your fault, but that’s just what we do, we fight, we make-up, we have amazing sex, and... I guess was just hoping that didn’t have to change so I just ignored all the signs that indicated you know - ”

“That I was getting clingy?” supplies Draco.

“That I _like_ how crazy you are and I get _jealous_ every time I hear about you handling other agents for missions. I would never fall asleep before midnight because I didn’t want to miss a chance to see you. I started hating going on missions without you and realized I was dragging my feet to accept them and I started considering not taking some they really needed me on,” says Potter.

“Oh,” says Draco.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, it’s not that I don’t want to, but I made a promise to my godfather, to M, to the agency, to my country, so my work – it’s, it always has to come first.”

“Right,” says Draco, “I understand.” Even though he doesn’t, not really, because he doesn’t prioritize anything except himself... and that’s the problem isn’t it?

“You were right that we shouldn’t sleep together anymore, something about you makes it hard for me to think straight and right now all I want to do is – ”

“Okayyyyyy,” says Draco lightly, hyper aware of how easy it would be to fall back into bed again with Potter but also cognizant that even though Potter had confessed to caring about Draco on some level, it would never be _enough_. Draco knows better than to try to compete with Potter's godfather, M, the agency, and the entire goddamn United States of America. 

“You’ve thoroughly explained yourself, I understand things didn’t unfold as you’d intended, I forgive you, we’re totally cool, and but let’s agree to never fuck again because even if you can put work first, I can't,” concludes Draco. “As you can see I’m well on way to getting over you and hopefully by our next mission things will go back to normal and I won’t set the sprinklers off again the moment you try to seduce someone.”

Draco really hopes Potter takes the bait and doesn't try to delve into any more serious conversation. Maybe the shrink had been right. U _ses humor as a defense mechanism_ , indeed.

“You haven’t set the sprinklers off the moment I’ve tried to seduce someone before,” says Potter suspiciously.

“Dammit, I was planning on saying that after I did it, silly me, forget I said that,” says Draco.

“ _Draco_.”

“ _Harry_.”

“...and what do you mean well on your way to getting over me?”

“Well I was considering dating Edward wasn’t I?”

“The blonde that just ran out of here terrified? You’re not _actually_ going to call him are you?”

“It’s _none of your business_ whether I call him or not.”

“You’re the one that just threatened to unleash sprinklers on me for doing part of my job description.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“ _Draco_ , seriously, you can’t keep doing that on missions whenever you get mad at me.”

“ _Harry_ , I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The sprinklers have gone off at least 6 times in the past year.”

“...Don’t use your microwave when you get home.”

“Don’t change the subject…wait… what did you do to my microwave? Draco, _what did you do to my microwave_?”

“I _didn’t_ rig it to explode in your face, _honestly_.”


	3. Part 3.

By some miracle of god, Draco does not jump Potter’s bones the moment he sees Potter half-naked from the waist down in the B12 infirmary pulling shards of glass from his own thigh and making soft grunting noises that sound like he’s more annoyed than in actual pain. The thin sheet across Potter’s lap bunches dangerously upwards as he bends his right knee upwards to get a better angle and does nothing except perfectly outline the soft curve of Potter’s impressive cock that Draco knows too well.

It’s been months since he’d last had that cock in his mouth.

And Draco _really_ wanted to suck it... and ride the man it was attached to.

Ah yes, the man.

One _Harry Potter_ who Draco had developed terribly inconvenient feelings for.

Really, he should have seen it coming – what with finally gaining the attention of his high school nemesis-turned lethal CIA assassin mixed with midnight sex-capades, constant banter on exhilarating missions, the discovery of someone that could finally keep up with (and possibly appreciated) Draco’s particular brand of genius* (*crazy).

Then, in a rare moment of self-preservation, Draco had gone and broken off their coworkers-with-benefits arrangement because realization of said feelings meant he was suddenly no longer cool* (*murderously against) with “handling” Potter on his X-rated missions and Potter had made it crystal clear that _nothing_ was more important than completing his missions.

Then, in an act of masochism to follow-up the moment of self-preservation, Draco decided to stay on as Potter’s handler even when he finally got handed an out from Potter and M, even though Draco knows the best thing for whatever mental health he still has left is to cut his losses and get the fuck off B12 and out of America and back to his cushy life in England as the wealthy heir to House Malfoy and to be like every other gay as fuck noble and just agree to get married to some vapid heiress and have dalliances with men on the side.

Draco _fucking knows this okay?_

It’s just… there’s a certain… rush... he gets working with Potter. The thrill of stealing information, of breaking into networks, of issuing orders to an agent that can carry them off (usually) without a hitch.

It isn’t something he’s ready to give up.

At least that’s what Draco tells himself, ignoring the small bubble of _want_ and _hope_ and _more_ that still lingers whenever he sees Potter in the flesh and on the screen, which fortunately (or unfortunately depending on you looked at it) had become increasingly less-often despite Potter’s insistence on working exclusively with Draco for missions that weren’t uber-classified.

Since they’d started working together again sans-sex, Draco had learned to hold his tongue and keep his emotions mostly at bay (minus the time he cut power to the entire block, whoops, index finger slipped 5 inches to the right when he clicked, really, what a mistake) whenever Potter got naked with women, largely by watching copious amounts of an American show called _Revenge_ on one of his other monitors.

The thought of Chang still makes Draco’s blood boil.

_Do **not** rip that sheet off him_ , Draco orders himself in attempt to ignore the small voice in his head that’s chanting _you could have hot filthy sex right now on that examination table right now._ He hadn’t come here to ogle Potter. It was their first mission in a couple weeks and Potter just had to narrowly miss _death_. Seriously, one tiny laceration through a major artery and Potter would have bled out in seconds, medical care too far away to make it in time. 

“ _Look at me_ ,” says Draco when he enters, in a high mocking voice that echoes around the small tiled medical room. “Look at me, I’m Agent Black the biggest badass ever. I don’t need to wear a seatbelt when I drive a dinky little sports car because I’m too cool for that. _Seatbelts are so useless_. When I get rear-ended by a goddamn semi-truck that’s been chasing me on the freeway at 100 miles an hour, I won’t fly through the freaking windshield because I’m immune to silly things like that…Oh wait. I did. _I did fly through a goddamn windshield_.”

Potter pauses in his extraction efforts and gives Draco a dirty look.

“I do NOT talk like that, and I was a little busy incapacitating the army of hostiles that were shooting at me with machine guns to think about a seatbelt,” says Potter in a measured tone, yanking out a thin shard that looks almost 2 inches long with a pair of tweezers. It glints under the harsh lighting. “And besides, you were apparently _too busy_ to remind to me.”

“It wasn’t an army, don’t _exaggerate_. It was a semi-truck, a few SUV’s, and like a cluster of little men on motorcycles. And I had my hands full wiping all the cell phones in a two-mile radius to get rid of all the footage people were recording of the not-so-little scene you were making. Everyone knows that seatbelts are meant to be worn _immediately_ after getting into a vehicle. Too good for simple rules of the road?”

“I’m sorry, does jacking a ‘dinky little sports car’ as you put it, steering one-handed, throwing flash grenades into moving vehicles, and not using my turn signal seem like I was concerned about following the rules of the road?”

Draco rolls his eyes and wrenches the tweezers from Potter’s fingers, “Where’s your doctor? Why are you mutilating your own leg?”

Potter looks guilty and lunges pathetically for the metal instrument. Any other day and Potter would have regained possession easily, but not this day. This day Potter had lost a good amount of blood, had a disoriented look in his eye, and definitely had at least a concussion.

Draco narrows his eyes. “Did you even check in with the doctor like you were supposed to?”

Potter avoids his gaze, “Yes.”

Unfortunately, when Potter wanted to avoid medical – he avoided medical.

Draco pulls Potter’s leg straight along the table, ignores the soft grunt, and holds up the tweezers menacingly.

“You’re going to slice through your blood vessels and bleed out all over the floor if you continue this yourself. Stay here when I find the doctor.”

Potter wraps his hand tightly around Draco’s wrist to stop him from leaving.

“Wait, no! I have a mission in two days. They’ll put me on leave for at least a week but I’m fine, really. Just a few bumps and scratches, nothing a night of sleep won’t fix. You know I’m fine.”

Potter jumps off the table as if to prove he’s right as rain, and he is…for about a second before he topples on to Draco.

Draco sucks in a sharp breath when his vision clears a few seconds later and he realizes that Potter must have forgotten the part where he was half-naked under the sheet, because the man was now lying on top of and bleeding all over Draco. Draco isn’t sure if he’s more grossed out by Potter’s blood staining his newly tailored-to-snugly-fit-his-butt wool-cashmere blend pants or turned on by Potter’s bare dick pressed softly against Draco’s unfortunately own pants-covered crotch.

“Get off of me,” is what Draco finally grits out even though his traitorous mind is yelling the exact opposite. After a few moments...a few long moments during which Draco tries not to rut against Potter’s still very fit and sexually attractive body even while injured, Potter does make an attempt to get up, but has to resort to gripping the table for support in order to stand on his own again and says, “shit I think I lost more blood than I thought,” followed by “sorry about that.”

And now Draco had a complete view of Potter’s perfectly sculpted muscular ass.

Wonderful.

As if he needed another reminder what he missing out on. Draco quickly scrambles off from the floor as well. “Get back on that table and _cover yourself up_ , how are you even standing with all that glass in your leg…you didn’t nick some morphine from these locked cabinets did you?”

Potter, thankfully complies. “I uh, don’t ever use pain medication,” he says, dick disappearing again beneath the sheet as he situates himself back on the examination table.

Draco glances at Potter’s extremely painful looking leg and repeats, “don’t use pain medication, _ever_?”

“It’s not in my file?”

“What’s not in your file?” asks Draco suspiciously.

“I’m kind of, well, desensitized to pain,” answers Potter sheepishly.

_Desensitized to pain?_

Well that explained a fucking lot.

“What are you? A fucking mutant?”

Potter suddenly looks serious, opens his mouth as if to say something, but then shuts it again. As if Draco wasn’t already pissed off about more secrets – Potter had another mission in two days? News to him. Except… Potter actually looks pensively serious, lips pressed in a thin line and Draco’s traitorous heart thumps against his chest and the biting retort dies on his tongue.

“If I help you get this glass out of your leg properly, will you at least go to an ER to get it thoroughly and professionally disinfected?”

Potter looks at him in surprise, “I didn’t know you cared so much about my well-being _,_ I heard you gave it a big fat zero during the last round of psych evals.”

“I _don’t_. However, it does seem like you’re well on your way to killing yourself by infection now and I don’t want you to die from stupidity, so here we are.”

“Now who’s exaggerating?”

“Unless you don’t want me to set up another new alias for you that the CIA won’t flag for you to use at the ER so you can go on your super-secret important mission in two days, I suggest you shut up.”

“It’s not a super-secret important mission,” murmurs Potter petulantly.  

“Then why won’t you let a doctor here fix your leg? I’m sure unimportant missions can wait a few days.”

Potter suddenly looks extremely uncomfortable and mutters a “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Again with the secrets.

Draco bends over Potter’s leg, mentally scrolls through his memory of the human blood vessel structure, locates the largest piece of glass safely that he can remove roughly with minimal damage and jabs the tweezers in and yanks it out roughly.

Potter growls.

“I thought you were desensitized to pain?” asks Draco snidely.

“It’s still _uncomfortable_.”

He spies that Potter’s hands are shaking slightly and motions towards them, “How much blood have you lost?”

Potter shrugs and flexes his fingers, “I’ve been through worse.”

“You sure it’s not neurological? Maybe you should get a scan. You went through that windshield pretty hard. I know you tried to control your landing onto the grass, but you could definitely have worse than a concussion,” says Draco in a rare moment of serious concern. 

Potter blinks at him in surprise before giving him a cheeky grin, “I love it when you fuss over me.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “If I agree to collude with you in order to get you back on the field even though any normal human being would need at least a week to recuperate, I need to make sure you’re not going to die from a sudden brain hemorrhage in a couple hours. M would skin me alive.”

Potter shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ve been getting minor concussions since I was a child, I know what they feel like. Had a pretty bad head injury a couple years ago so know what that feels like too. I’m fine, really.”

“ _Concussions since you were a child?_ Did your parents drop you on your head on a regular basis? That would explain everything… wait… do you have some kind of permanent brain damage to the part that regulates your pain response?” Draco asks, not really expecting an answer.

Potter shakes his head. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Clears his throat.

“No, my parents – they died in a car crash right after I was born. The agency – well, Dumbledore actually, did a full neurological assessment to try to figure out why I don’t really feel pain and also heal a little faster than normal when I first joined B12. They think it might be related to how my uncle… well he used to beat me for years, since I was kid when he took me in, until Sirius finally adopted me right before high school.” 

**Well, shit.**

It’s not often Draco is at a loss for words. Potter suddenly opening up and sharing his tragic childhood story with Draco, _what the hell does that mean?_ Draco glances up from Potter’s leg briefly and meets Potter’s glittering eyes staring expectantly at him. Draco looks back down immediately and grasps at something to comment on to break the rapidly descending awkward silence.

“Dumbledore?” asks Draco, because Potter mentions the name off-the-cuff every once in a while but usually clammed up right after.

When there’s no answer, Draco looks up at Potter, who is now looking at him with an atypical unreadable expression.

“M’s predecessor, murdered a couple years ago,” Potter finally answers.

“Sirius?” prompts Draco, because Potter also rarely mentions the godfather that he’d used to blab about all the time during school.

“Murdered a couple years ago.”

“Any connection there?” (It was suspicious the way he’d phrased the two so similarly).

“…Yes.”

“Any connection to the ‘worse head injury’ you also had a ‘couple years ago’?” (A reach, but possible).

“…Yes.”

“Any connection to your recent undercover work, that chase down in NYC, what I assume to be what you’ve been working on in high secrecy for the past couple of weeks since this is our first mission in _ages_ , and all that other read-in only jazz I don’t get details on because I’m not need-to-know?”

“… _How can you possibly know all that?_ That information is all hand-written, paper copy, no possible way to hack into.”

“I’m telepathic that’s why.”

“ _Draco_.”

“Just a suspicion. There have been… comments... from other agents.”

Potter looks a little stunned, “Don’t go poking around this, it’s dangerous. Jesus, I didn’t think you even listened to half the shit anyone says around here.”

“I listen to everything that involves you,” Draco responds, and then realizes how pathetic that sounds.

They fall into silence, with Potter breathing evenly now and Draco tentatively running his fingers along his agent’s right side to find any more pieces of glass he might have missed.

“So…what was your childhood like?” asks Potter, breaking the silence awkwardly.

Draco drops the tweezers.

“Just because you’ve suddenly decided to share does not mean I’m going to,” answers Draco shortly, and rambles off “I think I got it all, at least enough so you won’t cut yourself further getting to an outside ER, I’ll text you the details of your new ID so make sure you go tonight,” while turning to leave.

Potter grabs his wrist before he can step away from the table, “wait, Draco, I just – you’re the one that said I don’t **_know what you want_** , and you were right, so I thought I should – we should get to know each other, maybe.” 

 Draco stills at Potter parroting his own words from months ago back to him.

_Where was this coming from?_ Potter had given no indication that he wanted anything besides professionalism since their last heightened conversation months ago at Draco’s flat. Things had almost gone back to normal and suddenly Potter wanted to _get to know him_ , on a personal level?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” says Draco tightly.

“I think it’s a good idea,” says Potter, tugging Draco closer to the table.

Draco yanks himself free, “ _Don’t hit on me_ , we’ve already fucked and that ended up in a disaster. _I’m not interested_.”

“You’ve been staring at my crotch for the past hour.”

“No I haven’t,” says Draco quickly, and then lies through his teeth, “that would be inappropriate because I’m actually seeing someone right now.”

“ **What? Who?** ”

“None of your business,” says Draco with a sniff, considering he’d just made the whole thing up and tries to change the subject, “because _you_ already _passed_ on _me_. _”_

Potter’s reaches out with his right hand and grabs Draco’s shirt, pulling him down until they’re face to face, centimeters apart. And shit. Draco knows how aroused he must look to Potter right now, pupils dilated with attraction, and licks his lips in half-nervousness and half-anticipation.

Harry _kisses_ him. And by kiss, Draco means devours, hot tongue slipping past Draco’s lips, running along Draco’s teeth, slicking along Draco’s tongue, and then pressing deep into Draco’s mouth. **Fuck.** Harry was well on his way to literally sticking his tongue down Draco’s throat.

Draco whimpers.

And shamefully makes a noise of protest when Harry’s mouth unlatches from his.

At least they’re both breathing hard.

Draco slams his fist down on Potter’s stomach, remembering too late that Potter was a freaking superhero. At least the man makes a small _oof_ sound in surprise.

“ ** _The hell was that?_ ”** seethes Draco.

Potter’s eyes are closed, muttering curses under his breath, “shit I think I’m going to pass out.”

The sheet around Potter’s waist was starting to tent up. Apparently getting hard when you were suffering from severe blood loss was not a good idea, go figure.

“I said, _the hell was that_?” repeats Draco resolutely not staring at Potter’s crotch.

Potter’s eyes fly open with a soft grunt. “That was me saying I didn’t _pass_ on you….”

“Yes, I’m a hot piece of ass you want a no-strings arrangement with, no that’s not enough for me, I seem to remember having this exact conversation when you _passed_ on me last time,” snarls Draco crossing his arms.

Potter nervously runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.

“It’s not just the sex. I think – I think I care about you.”

“You _think_?” asks Draco, unimpressed.

“I’m not explaining myself very well,” mutters Potter.

“No, you’re not,” mutters Draco back.

“Things… might be changing soon,” says Potter.

...

...

...

Seriously, that’s all Potter says.

“Oh wow, that explains _everything_ , things _might be_ changing soon, time is moving forward, blah blah blah, I’m leaving now,” says Draco.

“Wait – ” Potter starts to say.

Draco whirls around and grabs the tweezers from the tray, holding them menacingly. “That’s the third time you’ve told me to wait, I’m not fucking waiting, either actually say something or _I’m stabbing you with these_.”

Potter swallows. “You know how I’ve been really busy with classified shit these past few months,” says Potter cautiously, licking his lips, “we’re finally getting close to… close to the guy that’s responsible for murdering Dumbledore and Sirius.”

Draco lowers the tweezers.

“Fuck, this is – this is all highly classified. M would – she would kill me if she knew I was telling you. There’s only a couple of us working on this. The guy, he’s really dangerous, has his hands in everything illegal and tech related. But I have to explain why I can’t, why we can’t…not until this is over,” says Potter with an even gaze, “We’re so – I’m so close, so fucking close to nailing this guy we’ve been chasing for years.”

Draco knows this is something big, but still can’t help himself from saying “look Potter, wonderful moving speech you’ve made, I could swoon into your arms, but are you going to stop fucking other people on missions or not?”

“But I might have to… it could still be months, you don’t understand he’s a fucking snake that keeps slipping right out of our hands–” Potter licks his lips nervously.

Draco narrows his eyes, but decides to grab some gauze to start wrapping up Harry’s lacerations.

It wouldn’t do for Harry to bleed out before he made it to the ER.

“I’ll scale back whatever’s not necessary to catch this guy,” says Harry carefully.

Draco considers this, dislikes the thought but recognizes that he can’t be entirely unreasonable because Harry does need to catch this ‘snake’ so he nods slowly and also says, “and after?”

“I’ll put in a request like Red did after he got married to have those reassigned.”

“What about _Chang_?” prompts Draco, moving on from wrapping Harry’s ankle and calf to the thigh where most of the damage was.

“Really, she doesn’t mean anything, she’s just an ally.”

“No,” says Draco briskly, “I hate her.”

Clearly Harry’s emotions followed his dick, at least where Draco was concerned. Maybe Chang didn’t mean anything right _now_ , but give it a couple more ‘thank you so much for rescuing me’ scenarios and that could change in a heartbeat. Was Draco being insecure? Yes. Did he care? No.

“…I’ll end it. When I see her in a couple weeks, I promise I’ll end it.”

Draco sniffs at this but gently finishes wrapping up Harry’s thigh with a satisfied pat on Harry’s right knee, “all done, you should sneak out of here before you start bleeding through the bandages and someone sees.”

They sit there in silence for a few moments and Draco’s heart swells a bit when Harry makes no movement to get off the table and tangles his fingers with Draco’s own.

Draco sighs. “My childhood was… as you would expect. I had a nanny that raised me until I was 5. She doted on me, but was fired when my father said I was getting too soft. I never saw her again. My mother was usually busy with her social-life. I usually saw her once a day at dinner. I saw my father even less, always at parliament or overseas on business. Got a lecture at the end of every school year about grades and expectations and making the right kinds of friends. And those friends always seemed to want something from me, money, favors, a good word with my father,” says Draco softly, “I did well in school, read a lot of books, and listened to my parents, at least until high school when I went through a bit of a rebellious phase.”

Harry snorts at that, “I remember your rebellious phase. Had a lot of fun with male celebrities at gay nightclubs while underage did you?”

Draco smirks, “I didn’t hear you complaining about what I learned from them.”

Harry flushes. “I’m sorry though, it sounds like you were lonely.”

Draco shrugs, “Maybe a little, but I had everything I wanted. Every once in a while my parents spent a couple hours or even the day with me, and I had my grandmother dropping by on holidays, you’d like her, she’s a spitfire, I take after her completely.”

Harry smiles, “I’d love to meet her.”

Draco’s heart thumps loudly in his chest again 

The doorknob to the medical examination room turns and Granger bursts in right after their fingers detangle. “Black! There you are, Chang’s going to be in town early, tomorrow actually – so we have to move up the information exchange to then instead of two days from now. She’ll be at the penthouse suite at the Ritz around noon and also left some sleazy message about having the champagne to celebrate the anniversary of your first mission together?”

_Oh hell no_.

Draco’s heart plummets as he sees Potter’s eyes widen.

The mission Potter was dying to go on was with Chang? The mission he had just patched Potter up for? Potter was seeing her tomorrow, and not in a ‘couple weeks’ like he had been led to believe?

Deep breaths, Draco tells himself, deep breaths.

Potter had just kissed the fucking daylights out of him and was then going to immediately go sleep with Chang on their stupid mission anniversary with champagne in a suite at a five-star hotel?

_Oh hell no_.

“Hey Malfoy, great, you’re here too. Black asked me to do the mission with Chang but I have something planned with Red tomorrow, can you take this?” asks Granger cheerfully, not picking up on the tense, hell-has-frozen-over, atmosphere 

Oh Draco was _so pissed._  

“Draco, it’s not what you think. It’s just an information exchange, I had no idea she was going to pull this anniversary shit, we’re not... I’m not... with her, she just has something I need,” says Potter urgently but softly, obviously in attempt to keep Granger from overhearing.

Draco sees that Granger’s eyes are widening to the size of dinner plates, definitely overhearing.

“You don’t _need_ anything from her,” snarls Draco loudly, finding no need to keep this conversation under wraps in front of Granger.

“You know what I _need_ it for.”

“I _know_ you could steal it yourself without laying a finger _on_ her, oh, excuse me, _inside_ her. Beat her up if you have too. Drug the stupid champagne with sedatives.”

“I _can’t_ just steal it, she’s with MI6, we’re allies.”

“You know what? If you _need_ her so much don’t bother cutting it off. I have no idea why you’re even chatting me up again when she obviously knows how to get you off _almost_ as well as I do. 

Granger makes a choking sound.

“She’s just work, I swear,” insists Potter with particularly pleading eyes that dart nervously over to Granger who’s openly gaping at the two of them, “you’re the one I care about.”

Granger makes a strangled gasping noise.

Draco spies the sharp tweezers lying innocently in the tray.

_Don’t do it, bad idea_ …

Oh but it had been so long since Draco had waved goodbye as his self-control flew away. So no, actually, _good idea_.

“Granger, I’d really appreciate if you don’t report what I’m about to do, but in my defense Potter really deserves this. And Potter you really do deserve this because **you can’t say you care about me after asking me to let you fuck someone else** _after_ you kissed the hell out of me and then I made it clear how much I hate Chang,” says Draco in an eerily calm manner while reaching for the tweezers.

“Um,” says Granger from just inside the doorway, finally finding her voice, “Are you guys… _together_?”

Draco considers Potter’s thigh, decides its already too mangled because Draco’s not actually a murderer, and thankfully there’s a space on the calf that doesn’t have much vasculature but will still get the point across. Lots of cutaneous innervation that will at least make Potter _uncomfortable_.

Draco stabs the tweezers straight into Potter’s right calf, safely below the back of Potter’s knee, and it sinks a few inches into Potter’s flesh.

“So sorry, my hand slipped, take care of that yourself and get yourself to the ER, yeah? Hope that doesn’t make _missionary_ with _Chang_ too difficult.”

And then makes a dramatic exit by pushing past the sputtering, wide-eyed Granger. Potter, that superhuman mutant bastard, doesn’t even make a pained noise.

* * *

 

Draco fumes at the beginning of his drive to his flat, remembers Granger’s shocked face after he’d stabbed Potter with a pair of fucking tweezers, and calms down a bit. God, Draco really had to stop deliberately injuring Potter – Draco was veering into domestic abuse territory rather than schoolyard tussle, which was not a pleasant thought.

Still, _lightly stabbing_ Potter had been extremely gratifying – and it wasn’t like Potter didn’t get injured on the job all the time already.

And then Draco seriously considers whether he’d overreacted. Potter was chasing after the guy who’d _murdered_ his previous boss and his godfather after all.

_What would Draco do if someone murdered someone in his family, like his parents?_

Inherit 50 million dollars, that’s what.

Also, maybe, seek revenge because they were his _parents_ , and Draco loved them about 25% of the time. So Draco would likely want to chop 25% of the offender’s body off in honor of his murdered parents. Like the shoulders up, or the knee’s down. Actually…that would be a little too graphic for his tastes, so with 50 million dollars he could probably hire hitmen to do the job for him, for a cool 1 or 2 million dollars. But if he wanted it done for free with a guarantee, he could probably sic Potter on them. Potter would definitely avenge Draco’s parents of Draco asked him to.

Potter 

_Harry_.

Draco’s hands clench around the wheel.

That had been some kiss. And some confession.

Draco’s hands relax around the wheel.

That had also been some bucket of cold water, hearing that Potter was going to see Chang, _again_ , tomorrow.

Draco’s hands clench around the wheel.

But stealing from Chang did mean stealing from MI6.

Draco hits his head against the steering wheel a couple times.

It was useless now to pretend that he didn’t want Potter. Today had certainly proven that he wasn’t anywhere _near_ being over Potter. He’d practically melted like a teenage girl with a full-blown crush the moment Potter kissed him. And then had stabbed Potter in a fit of jealously at the thought of Potter with Chang. Ugh.

Draco’s hands clench around the wheel.

Oh was Draco finally going to have to get off his ass and see if he could give Potter a taste of what Draco had been going through. Today might have proven that Draco wasn’t anywhere near being over Potter, but it had also proven that Potter still wanted Draco on some level. And that Potter was either a thick-headed idiot with blinders on or an asshole that thought he could have his cake and eat it too 

When Draco gets back to his flat, he takes a long shower, changes out of his blood-stained clothes curtesy of Potter, and pulls on one of his more enticing all black ensembles that contrasts nicely with his pale skin and blonde hair. A quick dip into Edward Rockefeller’s phone records and social calendar told him that the man would be at one of the rooftop bars within DC tonight. Potter had had an interesting reaction to the man already. Wouldn’t hurt to test if Potter was just a thick-headed idiot with blinders that needed a big push. 

* * *

 Yeah, Draco’s still got it.

He runs his fingers through his pale blonde hair, letting the strands brush against his jawline, and exposes his slender neck with a smile as he walks towards the front of the line. The bouncer glances at him before waving him in immediately. The waiting crowd that winds down the street and past the corner tsks their displeasure at the blatant favoritism and Draco gives them a smirk when he ducks into the double glass doors and takes the stairs to the top.

He gets a fair number of appreciative glances from women as he makes his way, and a few from a number of men as well.

It had been months since he’d been out to a bar for drink, much preferring a tumbler (or two or three, or four) of his own 60-year-old Macallan whiskey while planting viruses in the computers of any hackers he stumbled across while trolling the web. Idiots that thought they could hack _Draco Malfoy_. Hah! Draco had coded the viruses he’d planted in their systems by threshold, to log the amount of money they made stealing, so the moment they hit $50,000 stolen, their account would then empty into one of Draco’s unhackable offshore accounts.

Speaking of which, Draco pulls out the third iPhone he keeps just for this hobby and checks the amount. Just a smidge over $1.5 million.

Not bad.

Just in case, Draco locks the phone until the next morning so he doesn’t make the mistake of accidentally donating it all to some random cause (like the fucking CIA) that might catch his fancy when he gets wasted tonight.

Because Draco was on his own mission.

  1. Snog the shit out of Edward Rockefeller
  2. Be photographed in a scandalous position*
  3. Get so wasted and act so batshit crazy that Edward would then want to get as far away as possible from Draco, and therefore Draco would not offend a Rockefeller by refusing to go home with him after said snog because the man was a terrible lay and Draco was probably madly in love in Potter and sleeping with someone else was just as bad as Potter sleeping with Chang.



*Preferably with someone’s hands down someone’s pants because Draco had a feeling _that_ _would really_ get Potter jealous

*Could also be used to reaffirm his sexual orientation to his parents and get them off his case about blind dates if they thought he was sleeping with a Rockefeller

Overall a very solid, three step plan.

1 hour later he’s sitting across from a pleased Edward after “pretending” that he’d accidentally deleted the man’s number, and “accidentally” stumbled into the same bar as him.

1 hour 30 minutes later he’s sitting next to Edward and batting his lashes and clutching on to and complimenting the man’s firm biceps.

1 hour 45 minutes later he’s on his 4th blowjob (the drink, _sheesh_ ) and Edward’s hand is heavy on this thigh and whispering very cliché dirty talk into his ear.

Draco feels like rolling his eyes but restrains himself in order to pretend he likes the stupid shit coming out of the American’s mouth.

“I knew you wanted more of me, baby.”

_Really?_ And he thought this man was a little charming when they first met?

Draco sees quite a few girls glancing at them from around the room. Many trying to make eyes at the man trying to discreetly feel Draco up under the table. Well, Rockefellers were an American treasure, so it probably wasn’t that surprising that most people probably fell over themselves for his attention. 

He throws back two more blowjobs and winces when Edward calls him baby again and attempts to palm Draco over his black slacks.

“We’re getting some attention from the women over there, you sure want to do this here?” asks Draco calmly and motioning towards a bartender for more two more shots, “I noticed you hadn’t come out as bisexual yet – or I missed it in the news.” 

“Just haven’t found the right moment,” says Edward, hand retracting back to above the table, taking a large swig of his politically-friendly, locally-brewed beer, “but the numbers say good things so it’ll happen soon.” 

“Yeah?” says Draco breathily, “How about now? We take this to your car outside and give these people a little show… no time like the present.” 

Edward chuckles, “Can’t wait for this huh? I can think of worse than getting into a scandal with a hot British blonde like you so what the hell, let’s go.”

The bartender brings over two more shots and Draco downs them, and winces as his head moves from hazy to outright swimming. How many had he had? 7? 8? _Shit._ Edward stands up and when Draco gets up too, stumbles a bit. That bastard Edward doesn’t even lend a hand, too busy smiling brilliantly at the female attention around them. 

Edward’s attention is all on him though, when Draco has him pressed against the SUV door. His knee between the taller man’s legs, rubbing the hard cock. It’s a good angle for the bystanders and their cell phones. Draco has some privacy, only the back of him showing, although for those that know him, _like Potter_ , his hair and figure are a dead giveaway. Edward’s face is tilted back against the car and he clearly likes it when Draco does a slow body roll against him. Draco slips his hand under Edward’s shirt.

“It’s hot out here, you want to take this off?” asks Draco in a teasing voice. 

“That’s taking it a little far isn’t it?”

Draco kisses Edward’s jaw. “Think of all the middle-aged voter women from your liberal state, they’ll go crazy for these pictures. Fit politicians are all the rage now.”

Edward grunts and his shirt comes off seconds later.

They snog.

**#1 Complete.**

The bystanders get tons of pictures. Draco can hear the cell phone snaps increase in frequency. The moment they realized it was Edward Rockefeller sucking face with a man, social medial was going to explode. The pictures would definitely go viral.

**#2 Complete.**

Draco embraces his inner wasted crazy and says every random drunk thought that pops into his mind. The less filter, the better.

“If you ever cheat on me I’ll cut off your balls,” says Draco slipping his hand into Edward’s pants cupping said balls, saying something he actually wanted to say to Potter.

“Oh yeah… that feels good… _wait what_?”

“So we taking this back to your place? I have to let you know that the first fuck is free, but you used that up last time, so I’m going to cost you at least a thousand dollars, but you’re rich, you can afford that right,” says Draco stroking Edward’s hard cock inside his pants, channeling his rent-boy fantasy.

Fuck, what Draco wouldn’t do to act out a rent-boy fantasy with Harry. Harry would look so good in a perfectly tailored power suit paying for each of Draco’s services.

Edward’s muttering snaps Draco out of that blistering hot fantasy, “What? That’s a joke right? Fuck yeah… that’s so good, do that again…”

“Since you’re my boyfriend now, you’re going to come to Christmas in England with me right? To celebrate with my mommy and daddy?” asks Draco, deciding this had gone on long enough and reverting to the disgusting baby voice he’d heard on trashy TV shows.  

And right on time the dick in his hand starts to soften and Edward pushes Draco away from him.

“ _What?_ Wait hold on, I didn’t say I’m your boyfriend.”

“No?” slurs Draco, putting on a pout, “so a spring wedding is out of the picture?”

“ _Woah_ **,** I just needed to get my bisexuality out there, and thought we could have some fun tonight too.

“Do you have a safe-word?” asks Draco, “Mine’s Slytherin.”

And that apparently is the last straw because apparently Edward Rockefeller is a fucking pussy and does not have a safe-word.

Does Harry have a safe-word?

“Hey, so…I just remembered I have a thing in the morning… thanks for the press tonight, but I think we should…uh… call it a night. Bye man.”

With that, Edward hastily slides into his SUV that they’d been necking on moments before and leaves without a backward glance.

Draco smirks drunkenly and brushes his hair in front of his face before turning around and ducking into the crowd, careful to hide from a clear shot of his grinning face.

**#3 Complete.**

* * *

When Draco wakes up at 9am he has 2 missed calls from England and a raging hangover.

A quick look at the internet shows there’s more than enough buzz around the Edward Rockefeller bisexuality reveal, and as Edward had expected – it was polling extremely well. And as Draco had expected – the shirtless physique of Edward was also playing well.

And the shots of Draco, lithe blonde wrapped in the all-American’s arms, ass looking particularly pert in his tight black pants, getting kissed and also with his hands down the taller man’s pants. Well, the pictures certainly weren’t PG. Draco’s face, however, was obscured as he’d hoped. And the Rockefellers seemed to have done with behind-the-scenes work just fine – keeping Draco’s name out of the papers and keeping the blonde officially un-identified at what was likely Edward’s request.

The man hadn’t been able to get out of there fast enough once Draco started spewing drunken nonsense.

Calling back his mother in England immediately despite the odd time-difference, he gets an earful about how they’d thought he grown out of exhibitionist ways, but they were apparently pleased with who he was seeing. A Rockefeller had the _right kind of breeding_. They chose to ignore that Edward was also a man. Typical. Still, they promised to stop attempting to set him up with blind dates – which was a half-win considering Draco knew he’d get lectured again the moment they found out that he wasn’t actually _dating_ Edward.

The other call was from his grandmother.

“ _Draco? What is this nonsense I see about you snogging that rich American? He looks like a right twat. I don’t approve.”_

Draco sighs. His grandmother was old as fuck, and his parents thought she was already crazy so he might has well tell her the truth.

“Don’t worry, I just did that to make the guy I actually like jealous.”

“ _Oh? I’m not sure I like the sound of a guy that you have to make jealous.”_

“Gram, you threw yourself in front of Grand-dad’s horse when he was on a date with someone else so you’d get stampeded and get nursed back to health in his mansion.”

_“He just needed a little push.”_

“Well Potter needs a push too, he’s a little too…obsessed with work.”

“ _Potter? Not that boy you targeted with your chemical bomb back in high school?”_

“You remember him?”

Draco has to pull the phone away from his ear when his grandmother starts cackling evilly.

“ _Of course I remember that boy you had a crush on, the one with very pretty green eyes.”_

Draco frowns, “I did **not** have a crush on him.”

“ _If you say so dear. And what is he up to now? Does he have a respectable job?”_

Draco considers lying but knows his grandmother can sniff out his lies like a bloodhound. Plus, all of Draco’s phone lines were encrypted to the max.

“He’s a CIA assassin and can kill like 20 people without breaking a sweat, it’s brilliant.”

Draco isn’t sure if his gram was even going to take what he just said seriously. He’s not disappointed when she answers, “ _Wonderful, he sounds useful, I approve”_ followed by _“you need a haircut.”_

Then Draco hears a sharp click and realizes that she hung up on him. That was Gram. No asking stupid questions like, how did you meet him? How much do you like him? Etc. Right to the point and when she got all her answers. Done.

During the light of day, Draco suddenly isn’t sure if trying to make Potter jealous was actually the best idea. Seeing Potter with Chang had certainly made Draco feel possessive, but that didn’t mean Potter would have the same reaction. What if he had read Potter completely wrong?

As if on cue, Draco’s work phone dings with a text from Granger.

**Report to B12 ASAP.**

Which sounded ominous, so no, Draco was not going to report to B12 without an explanation, especially since Granger had previously threatened Draco with death if any misfortune happened to befall her bestie Harry Potter.

**I’m not going anywhere near B12 if Black is “meeting” with Chang.**

Which wasn’t professional, but hey, when was Draco every professional?

**You made that clear yesterday. And again last night.**

So Granger had seen the pictures and recognized him. Not unexpected. Still, Draco feels the need to defend his actions.

**My personal life is none of your business.**

Draco’s phone rings. Granger was calling him. Shit. He doesn’t pick up.

**Malfoy pick up the phone. It’s my business when Harry shows up at my door at 6am asking me if I think he can kidnap a Rockefeller to interrogate him about his relationship with you.**

Draco picks up the phone.

“Malfoy,” says Granger smugly, “I thought that tidbit would catch your attention.”

“Granger,” says Draco curtly, “don’t think I won’t hang up on you.”

Granger sighs. “Fine, look, we have to talk about Harry.”

“What about him?”

“He’s obsessed with work, goes on violent missions, knows how to use people, and has lost more family than he cares to admit. I can count the people he actually trusts on one hand.”  

“So? I know all that,” says Draco.

“That’s my point. The fact that you know is...well, I can’t believe I missed it. It’s so obvious, should have been right in front of my face, but I missed it because he’s never been _in love_ before. He’s so **emotionally stunted** I never thought that he would actually you know, fall in love, and _with you_ , though to be honest, he was a bit obsessed with you back in high school so it really shouldn’t be that big of surprise –”

“What the fuck are you on about?” says Draco, “Harry isn’t in love with me.”

“ _Are you serious?_ ” asks Granger incredulously, “did you miss that part when I said Harry showed up at my door at 6am with a plan to kidnap a _Rockefeller_?”

“That’s only because he got jealous,” says Draco evenly.

“Seriously? Harry doesn’t get jealous. I’ve never seen him jealous.” insists Granger.

“You’re the one that told me he used to be with Chang, I’m sure he’s been jealous over her before,” snaps Draco, “she seems very loose.”

Granger snorts. “Oh she is, but he never cared about who she slept with. He was never really _with_ Chang, they had some kind of thing based on similar lifestyles. I thought she was as close as he was ever going to get at wanting a relationship with someone, but he’s completely different regarding you.”

“I suppose you’re going to say that I should just let him fuck around with her and everyone else for the sake of his job,” says Draco, not fully understanding what Granger was trying to get at.

“I told Harry he’s a complete idiot and that if he continues being his emotionally stunted self he’s going to lose you. But since he **is** my best friend and his sad eyes make me sad, I hacked Rockefeller’s phone to see if you guys were together,” answers Granger.

“We’re not,” supplies Draco.

“Obviously,” says Granger, “otherwise I wouldn’t be calling you to tell you that Harry and I worked out a play to get what he needs without engaging with Chang sexually, and that I can’t believe I’m extending an invitation for you to report to B12 to witness this grand gesture like a teenage matchmaker in high school.”

“Since when did you like me enough to play matchmaker?”

“I don’t. You’re obviously insane. Brilliant for sure, but insane. But Harry used to have this _spark_ that’s been gone ever since Sirius ... and you somehow, well, it’s back... and I’m tired of mulling over those incomplete case reports on how Harry gets mysteriously injured, _yes I know what you’ve been up to and god is this why that’s been happening... is that your idea of foreplay_ , I do not want to see any more tweezer stabbing or hear about illegal kidnapping plans. I swear your flirting is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Draco coughs nervously, seriously considering whether Granger’s deluded notion that Harry Potter is _in love_ with him has any basis, when his personal phone suddenly blares with an alert.

Their phone conversation had been bugged, and it had taken his system longer than usual because it hadn’t been on his end, but Granger’s, with some high level encryption shit. Not good enough to completely bypass Draco’s detection system, but had definitely taken longer than usual to pick up on.

“Hate to break this up but Granger you’re being bugged right now.”

“Impossible, I’m on a secure line at my workstation on B12. If we’re bugged it’s on your end.”

“Negative, all my phones have heavy detection scans that run every minute. But don’t hang up or else we’ll lose them. If we keep this line open, I can try to follow it and see what they’re taking and where it’s coming from.”

“B12 can’t be hacked from the outside, someone would have to place a physical bug on my phone. Everything is swept at the end of each day.”

“Yeah...no, I’ve got it right here, the bug appears to be highly advanced encrypted looping tech that activated the moment your voice said ‘Harry,’ and then sent out a parallel recording of our conversation. My system checks flagged an anomaly on your end but the tech forced the flag into a loop. Thankfully I had an internal counter just in case something like this happens because I’m a fucking genius, so it was finally able to alert me when it determined data was being sent outside our line.”

“Did you say _highly advanced encrypted looping tech_?”

“Yup and it looks like they already triangulated the call to my flat but I can’t locate where it’s coming from, they’re running it through so many servers...it’s in the shape of...is that snake?”

“ **SHIT, Draco, get out of there, get out of there now, it’s Riddle, did you hear me, GET OUT**.”

Draco freezes at the pure terror in Granger’s voice flooding through the phone. Who the fuck is Riddle? He heads towards his door obediently because Granger sounds like she’s about to have an aneurysm and hears Granger scream out **“M, GREEN ALERT. AGENTS TO DRACO’S NOW. B12 LOCKDOWN. BUGGED BY MOLE,”** through the phone before his windows shatter around him and heavy gas erupts from canisters from his floor.

Well shit.

* * *

 

Draco wakes up in situation that seems straight out a bad film, hands tied behind his back, seated on a rickety wooden chain in what seems like a damp cement basement with mold in the corners and two big goons guarding the only door. No windows. Only a dim fluorescent light that flickers every few seconds.

His lungs feel heavy and before he can hold it in, a wracking cough erupts. The goons heft their large guns up in alarm.

 "Get Voldemort he’s awake.”

“You get Voldemort you’re the superior.”

“I’m the superior so you follow my orders.”

There’s some more grumbling, but the stockier of the two glares at the man who Draco supposes is the superior, relents and unlocks the creepy rusted metal door before heading down a dark hallway.

“What are you looking at?” snaps the guard, walking towards Draco.

“You, unfortunately.”

Draco gets smacked in the head rather roughly for that comment, and blood from his lip floods into his mouth.

“ _Stand down_ ,” hisses a low voice from the now open doorway.

A look of terror flashes across the face of the guard that scrambles quickly away from Draco.

“ _Wouldn’t want our boy Harry to get upset about damaged goods, would we?”_ hisses the same dangerous voice.

Cold fingers tilt Draco’s face up towards the flickering light, brightness that has him blinking to clear his vision. He coughs again, but then gags when the tall, pale man hovering over him suddenly clenches Draco tightly around the throat. 

“ _On second thought, some roughing up might provide just the right kind of incentive. A little bit of blood and a little bit of bruising of this pretty face just might do the trick.”_

Just when Draco’s lungs begin to burn, the fingers release him, and he gasps for air.

“ **Riddle** ,” Draco chokes out and forces himself to make eye contact with the slit like eyes peering down at him.

The two guards in the room clear their throat nervously. The man motions with a twitch of his bony fingers, and one guard brings a chair. The man sits across from Draco and calmly places his hands in his lap.

“ _You will address me as Voldemort_ ,” says the man.

Draco rolls his eyes.

“ _Pleasure to meet you too Draco Malfoy. I apologize for not being here when you came to, I was reading through your file. Very excellent technical skills, out-of-the-box thinking, and unique psychological profile.”_

“Thank you,” says Draco.

“ _You’re very welcome. I must say I would have recruited you for my organization had you been on my radar earlier. But you had very mediocre test scores all throughout school, nothing that showed brilliance until you stole money from me.”_

“I’ve never stolen money from you,” says Draco. “Is that why you’ve taken me? You want your money back?" 

The man cackles and Draco sees the guards flinch.

“ _You know why I’ve taken you. If you know who I am, then you know I want Harry.”_

“Honestly I don’t. I only just heard Granger shout your name through my phone before you destroyed my flat like a total barbarian. You really could have knocked. If you want Harry, I have no problem telling you exactly where his flat is.”

The man rattles off Harry’s address with an unimpressed look. “ _I’m well aware I’d need a small army if I wanted to confront Harry directly. But you misunderstand, it’s not just him I want, it’s something he has that I want back.”_

“If it’s the money you think I stole from you, I have a few million just a few key strokes away,” says Draco taking note of the way the two guards perk up at the sound of money.

The man gives him an eerie smile. “ _5 million is pocket change to me, no need to worry about that, what I want is my black box_.”

“So Dolohov’s money was yours.”

“ _Sharp aren’t you?”_

“I am when I’m being kidnapped. I have lots of experience. And I’ve only stolen 5 million once in my life.”

“ _Ah yes, I did just read that you’d been kidnapped on December 15 th when you were just 13 years old. A remarkable story really, your father paid a 2.48 million dollar ransom and then you identified the kidnapper from the wrinkle pattern around his eyes when you saw him at a birthday party a few months later, even though he’d worn a mask when he’d taken you. The maid’s husband was it?”_

“The gardener’s husband, actually, as I’m sure you know, and it was 2.58 million dollars.”

Riddle gives him that same eerie smile.

“ _What a shame, I really should have gotten to you first.”_

“If this place is any indication of what working for you is like, I’m really glad you didn’t.”

_“Oh this is just an old building I’ve been meaning to rebuild. If Harry doesn’t show up with my black box before the scheduled demo in a few hours, well, let’s just say you’re staying right here for that._

Riddle sounds dead serious, and judging by the way the guards flinch at the sound of the pale man’s voice, this was not a man that went against his word. Which meant Draco was majorly screwed if Harry decided his life wasn’t worth some stupid black box.

Was Draco’s life worth a stupid black box?

“Black box?” asks Draco in an attempt to be casual.

Riddle peers at him before smiling sadistically, _“He didn’t tell you about my black box? Things aren’t looking good for you then. Perhaps his friend was wrong about loving you._ ” 

Draco freaks out internally after Riddle sweeps out of the room leaving the two terrified guards standing like petrified statues at the door. It’s a good thing that historically, freaking out had always been good for Draco’s deduction skills. This Riddle definitely had to be the man that was responsible for the deaths of Harry’s entire family. If Harry was supposed to come here with this “black box”, that meant he had to know the location of this building. So what was stopping B12 from just bombing this entire area by drone? Draco seriously doubted that B12 would restrain from bombing Riddle just because Draco would be collateral damage. Which meant B12 couldn’t just kill Riddle and Riddle knew it.

Why?

Jesus this was hurting Draco’s brain.

If B12 wasn’t killing Riddle but knew where Riddle was, and Riddle wasn’t killing Harry but knew where Harry was...

...instead Riddle had kidnapped Draco in hopes of getting this “black box” back... didn’t that mean this “black box” was responsible for keeping both parties alive? But how? And why?

AND RIDDLE EXPECTED HARRY TO TRADE THIS **BLACK BOX OF LIFE** FOR DRACO’S LIFE?

This was all Granger’s fault. If she hadn’t blabbed the name “Harry,” activated the bug, and then made sweeping statements about “love” then this evil maniac wouldn’t have the stupid idea to kidnap Draco in some stupid plot to get the black box of life...

Because obviously Harry was _not going to come_. Wasn’t there some _we don’t negotiate with terrorist’s_ code? Also Draco distinctly remembered signing a 431-page document that released B12 from liability if Draco’s life was placed in danger. The _disavowing_ for the good of the country shit. Aka there was no way B12 was going to sanction some trade of Draco’s life for this extremely valuable and mysterious black box of life.

**_WHAT A FUCKING DISASTER._ **

Draco was no patriot. His native country wasn’t even America. DRACO IS FUCKING BRITISH, WHAT THE HELL HAD HE BEEN DOING WORKING FOR THE CIA? This was supposed to just be a fun job. This was not supposed to turn into a situation in which page 331 was relevant. But of course fucking around with Potter had led to this. Harry fucking Potter and his messy black hair and his charming smile and his sexy sex skills was literally going to be the death of Draco Malfoy.

Draco decides in this moment that he was going to kill Harry if Harry didn’t come and trade away the black box of life. Draco was going to kill Granger too. He was going to come back as a vengeful spirit and haunt both of them until –

The guard’s walkie crackles just then and spits out a grainy _“Dark haired individual spotted alone, face mask on, 2 miles out, on foot, unidentifiable package in hand.”_

**Oh dear god.** His stupid agent had actually brought the black box of life with him. How stupid could Potter be? How could Granger let him? How could M let him?

Riddle was going to kill Harry.

No.

Riddle was going to _attempt_ to kill Harry (Harry was very hard to kill) the moment he had his hands on the box.

Still. Shit. Draco was _so_ going to die in the crossfire.

Riddle finally stands up and moves towards the door.

“ _Seems like Harry loves you after all, doesn’t that make your heart warm?”_

A little, but not really, seeing as how the man Draco loves (yes okay, obviously he loves Harry) was about to walk into a death trap.

“ _You two, don’t let him move_ ,” says Riddle, slinking out the door.

Draco clears his throat. The two guards look at him with pissed off looks.

He clears his throat. “I need to pee,” says Draco.

“Really,” says the stockier guard, “what a coincidence Voldemort leaves and suddenly you have to go.”

“Well I’ve had to for a while, but you two did see how creepy your boss is right? There was no way I was going to ask him. He looks like he murders and then eats babies for breakfast doesn’t he?”

The two guards glance at each other and grimace but actually _nod in agreement_.

“Isn’t there a restroom nearby? The love of my life is about to rescue me, I really don’t want to pee on myself, that would be so embarrassing.”

“That would be funny,” says one.

“Okay, how about this, I mentioned I have a few million dollars just keystrokes away. You guys didn’t find my third iPhone in the bottom of my left shoe. I’ll transfer the money to you if you just let me use the restroom.”

“You’re going to pay us a few million dollars just to use the restroom?”

Draco nods earnestly. “I’m nobility in England. I’m loaded. You heard your boss. My dad has millions to pay a ransom, I stole 5 million from his guy Dolohov too remember, really, it’s all pocket change to me too.”

The two whisper to each other before finally agreeing. “But no funny business, you tell us the passwords to your accounts on your phone and we transfer it to our accounts.”

Draco nods, “And then you promise to untie me and let me use the restroom? If you go back on your word I’ll tell your boss about the money I’m giving you, you know he wouldn’t let you keep it, probably make you give it to him.”

Actually Draco doesn’t know this, but judging by their cheap clothes and scuffed shoes, Voldemort was definitely not paying these goons the big bucks.

They nod emphatically.

Draco holds up his left foot and gestures to the heel. “The bottom of this heel just slides off, and we better be quick if you want to get back before your boss does.”

Their eyes almost bug out when the see how much Draco has from phishing phishers (thank god for that hidden third iPhone) and eagerly transfer the money to their accounts. Idiots, the both of them. Draco could wire that right back the moment he was freed. Still, that wasn’t his immediate target. One guard had a small pistol tucked into his ankle.

The moment Draco was untied, he pretended to lose his balance, pitched forward, and deftly removed it without the man noticing, and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. He was hauled back up rather abruptly, and almost prepared himself to make a break for the door when one of the guards snarled a “and no funny business,” thinking he was caught. But thankfully they just roughly nudged him out the door and towards a grimy door at the end of the hall.

They keep the door open as Draco goes through the motions of taking a piss. He unzips his pants, carefully untucks himself, takes pride in the widening eyes of the guards (yes Draco may be petite but his dick was absolutely not), and pretends to attempt to go, but ends up chalking his inability to anxiety under their watchful eyes, and the stupid idiots actually grunt and let the close door behind them with a “you have 2 minutes before we’re taking you back.” Their voices are muffled behind the door, but he can make out phrases like “new car” and “new house” and “call girl.”  

With only slightly shaking hands Draco pulls out the small pistol from his waistband, recalls his minimal training with firearms, checks that the safety is off, places his index finger caaaarefully on the trigger and places himself flush against the right wall just next to the door frame.

It’s in this moment Draco realizes two things.

One, it’s eerily quiet, the muffled voices no longer audible.

Two, Draco _has not_ tucked his dick back in his pants.

And that’s when the door cracks open the smallest of millimeters and Draco fires towards the small flash of tan flesh that appears from the darkness.

* * *

And suddenly Draco is being slammed back against the hard concrete wall by a forearm that has no business being so fucking strong, dropping the pistol because it feels like he was just hit by a freight train, his right shoulder crunching against the wall.

“ **FUCK** ,” Draco screams, pain erupting throughout his body, the last time he’d felt like this was when Harry had broken this same fucking arm in high school. Draco crumples to the floor clutching his shoulder and wonders if this is how he was going to die. Pants unzipped in a bathroom, a filthy bathroom in a basement of only god knows where, on grimy white linoleum, all because he missed a point-blank shot at a stupid guard.

_“Oh my god, Draco?”_ a very familiar and strangled voice speaks from above him.

Draco freezes.

He MUST be hallucinating. Or dead. Probably dead. Why the FUCK would he be hearing Harry’s voice right now. There was no way Harry was here. Even Harry couldn’t traverse 2 miles on foot in under 6 minutes.

Draco starts to look up, and there it is, Harry’s face just inches from him. A panicked, pale, frantic, gleaming eyed Harry.

“Are we dead?” grunts Draco through the shooting pain, “we’re both dead aren’t we, you let that creepy snake fucker take your stupid black box of life and kill you and now we’re both dead, and now we’re both going to hell because you’re an assassin, and obviously assassins go to hell, and I’ve never been nice to anyone so I’m going to hell too, but that’s completely unfair to equate being mean to being an assassin, so we better not be in the same hell, but that can’t be right because I love you, so why the hell would hell include you if I love you, so does that mean we’re not in hell and WHY DOES MY SHOULDER STILL HURT LIKE HELL BECAUSE IF I’M DEAD THE LEAST THAT COULD HAPPEN WOULD BE FOR THIS FUCKING PAIN TO STOP.”

Dead-Harry’s mouth drops open.

“Shhhh,” shushes dead-Harry, “we’re not dead.”

“We’re not dead,” repeats Draco.

“You love me?” asks not-dead-Harry.

“We’re not dead?” asks not-dead-Draco.

“I definitely heard you say you love me,” says Harry.

“You just broke my arm,” says Draco.

“You love me,” says Harry softly.

“You just broke my arm, my right arm, _again_ , how the fuck am I supposed to wank if my right arm is broken, _again_ ,” says Draco loudly.

Draco looks down at his exposed dick and notices that Harry’s cheeks tinge pink when he follows Draco’s line of vision.

“Uh, what, why are your pants – “

“Why are you blushing you moron you’ve had me in your mouth, and help me back into my fucking pants, my arm is _broken_ , take responsibility for _breaking my right arm again_ you savage,” rants Draco, firmly aware he’s talking like a crazy person with his mind careening off the rails.

Not dead? Not dead. Rings around in his head.

Harry hesitates for a second before gingerly reaching towards Draco’s exposed self.

“It’s instinct to neutralize someone if they shoot at you, so the shoulder breaking was not intentional, I had no idea it was you in here. It looks like you’ll need surgery, I’m really sorry Draco,” says Harry calmly, finishing with Draco’s zipper, “Draco? You alright?”

Oh shit.

Draco glances behind Harry and sees the two guards lying motionless behind him, a small pool of blood collecting under them.

Oh shit. Harry had disarmed* (*killed) the two guards and opened the door.

Draco had then shot at Harry.

“ _I shot at you_?” Forget his own fucking arm, Draco had almost killed Harry. 

“Okay, deep breaths, I’m fine, totally fine,” says Harry softly, “you were aiming too low anyways, would have only nicked my wrist or something like that if I hadn’t seen the barrel first.”

“Why didn’t you say who you were?” mutters Draco.

“I didn’t know you were in here. The guy upstairs said you were tied up in the basement to a chair.”

“How are you even here? They said you were 2 miles away.”

Harry’s eyes turn serious, giving Draco a onceover as he answers. “That’s the double. M wouldn’t let me come so they sent a double.”

“M wouldn’t let you come, so.... you’re here?” asks Draco, mind shutting down to a crawl.

Harry gently pulls Draco to his feet, careful not to jostle Draco’s right side. “I love you, of course I’m here.”

“You love me?” asks Draco incredulously.

“You love me too,” states Harry.

Draco’s mind is finally clearing up and he makes solid eye contact with Harry for the first time since they’d run into each other, which was putting it lightly. Shot at and then smashed against the wall would be the more technical description.

“Who did this to you?” asks Harry immediately after his eyes drift down Draco’s face and towards Draco’s neck, tone pitched quiet and low, gently running his fingers along Draco’s throbbing lip and ghosting along his throat, “did someone _choke_ you?”

Draco clears his throat, surprised by the sudden burning intensity behind Harry’s eyes.

“It doesn’t hurt as bad as the shoulder you broke, but yeah, that was Riddle, total creep,” says Draco carefully.

Harry’s eyes narrow, “You met Riddle? Are you okay? What else did Riddle do?”

Before Draco could answer, and ask his own questions – How did you get in here? Where’s the black box of life? What even is the black box of life? – the walkie that Harry picked up from the downed guard crackles and spits out Riddle’s hiss.

“ _Approaching figure is NOT Harry Potter, **Goyle** , check in.”_

“Shit,” says Harry, “the double’s been compromised.”

“ ** _Goyle_** _, check in on the status of Draco Malfoy.”_

Draco looks at Harry who’s peering down the dark hallway.

“They’re going to be coming down looking for you any second, we have to get out of here before they realize you’re gone and I’m here too, that would be a complete shit-show.”

Draco peers down the dark hallway with Potter and seriously considers how he got here. It was one thing to “handle” an Agent Black mission from behind the safety of his lovely high res monitors and another to **be** the fucking mission.


End file.
